Crime Spree
by 22-Ti
Summary: Dead bodies have been turning up around Barden, five murders and still, nobody has a clue who the killer is. Chloe is an investigative crime reporter with a fondness for one of the detectives working the case. She doesn't know it yet, but she is the only one who can stop the predatory killer.
1. Murder, She Wrote

_Dead bodies have been turning up around Barden, five murders and still, nobody has a clue who the killer is. Chloe is an investigative crime reporter with a fondness for one of the detectives working the case. She doesn't know it yet, but she is the only one who can stop the predatory killer. When the object of her desire disappears, Chloe finds herself thrown into the center of the investigation. Her only clues are on a thumb drive located on the floor by her bed._

_Can Chloe find the answers before the serial killer strikes again, and what happens when Chloe has to choose between her best friend and the detective she finds herself falling for?_

* * *

Beca Mitchell groggily reached for her phone, checking the time and caller ID before answering it. "Fuck, Posen. It's four am. We aren't on call this weekend. You've better have a good reason for calling me."

"There's another one, Mitchell. Could be the same M.O. The captain assigned it to us. Get your lazy ass out of bed." Beca's partner gave her the address, and they agreed to meet on the scene in twenty minutes.

The detective moaned as she ended the call on her phone and sat upright. A grin crept across her face as she looked at the sleeping body next to her. She eased out of bed and slipped off to take a quick shower. When Beca emerged from taking a shower, she was surprised to see the redhead fully dressed, pulling on her shoes.

"Going someplace, Chloe?"

"When I wake up in the middle of the night and discover my homicide detective girlfriend missing from bed on her weekend off, I can only presume that there's a dead body somewhere. And that dead body is either somebody important or another in the same string of killings that have been cursing our town. Either way, I need to be there."

Beca finished dressing and sat next to Chloe. "I know we've talked about this before, but nobody can know we are dating. You realize that, right?"

"Dating? Is that what we are doing?" Chloe chuckled. "And here I thought we were just sometimes bed buddies."

"Yeah, well, you did just call me your girlfriend," Beca scoffed. "And I'm your inside scoop to some of the most serious murders in Barden. Seriously, Chloe. If anyone finds out I'm sleeping with the town's most prolific crime reporter, especially Posen, then I'm in super trouble."

"Aubrey doesn't suspect a thing." Chloe stood and pulled the detective to her feet. "She knows I'm seeing someone but doesn't pay attention otherwise. So, who died this time?" The redhead slipped her notebook and favorite pen into her purse. Her fully charged phone was ready to record any interview she was lucky to obtain.

Beca took in a deep breath, unsure how much to tell the sexy woman who was worming her way into her bed on a more regular basis. "I'm not sure who the vic is, but the M.O. seems the same as the other recent murders. Otherwise, our captain wouldn't have called Posen and me in on our days off. I'm afraid we might have a serial killer on our hands. But I never said that, okay?"

"Okay." Chloe wrapped her arms around the shorter woman's shoulders and pressed her lips against her cheek.

"And promise me... stay out of the way!" Beca gave Chloe the address before giving her a proper goodbye kiss and heading to the crime scene.

* * *

Detective Mitchell pulled up to the scene near the emergency vehicles, parking next to the medical examiner's van with her Barden Police Department placard on the dashboard. Pulling a new set of personal protective equipment (PPE) from her trunk, she slipped the paper suit over her clothes and pulled on the booties. The detective flashed her badge at the uniforms guarding the scene at the perimeter. After she signed into the scene and ducked under the tape, she approached the victim.

The medical examiner was leaning over the male's body, taking his temperature while her partner was digging through the victim's pockets looking for his wallet and cell phone. "93.1 degrees, so rough estimate, he's been dead about five hours, give or take." After glancing at her watch, she made a note in her spiral. "I'll estimate his time of death between 9 and 11 last night."

While her partner was rifling through the man's wallet, Beca leaned down to look at the injection mark in his neck. "Possible puncture site like the others?"

"I won't be able to tell if there are similarities until I get him back to the morgue, Detective Mitchell."

"Not even a supposition, doctor?"

The examiner rolled her eyes. "You know I don't make presumptions, detective."

"Okay, let's try this one. Have you identified the substance for those cases yet, Dr. Conrad?"

The lanky M.E. pulled off her gloves and motioned for her workers to begin bagging the victim for transport. "Right now, my concern is this case." She motioned to the body bag being lifted to the gurney. "But I'll give you this. We are getting close, Detective Mitchell. The problem is that many of the chemicals seem to break down quickly or are in the blood in such minute amounts that they are too difficult to trace." She held up several vials of blood.

"Luckily, this vic was found quickly. I hope getting hold of his blood sample sooner will help." The tall brunette stood and brushed off her pants. "Sorry to scoop and run, but the sooner we get the specimens to the lab, the better chance we have at solving this."

Detective Posen tapped the procured driver's license on her palm. "Jesse Swanson, 24, lives over on 27th Avenue." She stuck the identification back in his wallet. "We also have a city transit pass, a library card, and a Kroger loyalty shopping card. Time to see if Jesse here has a family." She dropped the items into an evidence bag and passed it to one of the morgue workers to process into evidence.

As the detectives ducked back under the crime scene tape and tore off their PPE suits, various media outlets who had heard about the crime on the police scanner bombarded the women with questions. Lights were shined in their face, and microphones shoved towards them. "Detectives, detectives," one familiar voice clamored. "Has the _Barden Butcher_ struck again?"

Usually, the press was ignored by detectives, leaving the release of information to be handled by the appropriate office. But this question irked Detective Posen, who turned and faced the red-headed reporter who had asked the question. "Ms. Beale – seriously? The Barden Butcher? There has been no maiming of bodies here. Maybe you and your press buddies," she made a waving motion over the other press there, "should come up with a better name."

"Besides," Detective Mitchell chimed in. "No connections have been drawn between the deaths."

Posen turned on her heel and marched to her partner's car. As Aubrey climbed in the passenger side, Beca fired up her ride and maneuvered out of the mass of vehicles surrounding the scene. "You take an Uber to the scene?"

"Something like that." With that, Aubrey turned to the window and was silent as they made their way to the victim's home.

Beca glanced over at her partner. "New suit? Looks nice." Even Beca would admit, to herself anyway, that Aubrey was as beautiful in her tailored ensembles as she was observant.

Aubrey turned and scanned Beca up and down. "Mitchell, would it hurt to visit a tailor? I have a guy who can help make about any weapon you carry disappear under a well-fitted jacket."

Despite having this conversation before, her partner acted offended. "Just because I know the ropes of a homicide investigation does not mean I can find his way around a clothes closet."

"Which is why you should let me help you with color coordination and tailoring. You're great at fighting crimes against people, but crimes of fashion? Please!"

Mitchell chuckled. "What? My dark suit doesn't pair well with my dark blue shirt?"

Her partner reached over and tugged on the driver's jacket. "NO! And nor do your oversized jackets made of cheap material."

"Awwww, Posen, I didn't know you cared." Mitchell pointed to a stain on her partner's pants. "Something get through your PPE? Mmmm strange. I'd hate to have your dry cleaning bill."

* * *

After a trip to the victim's address, the detectives learned that Mr. Swanson did not have any local relatives. He hadn't been having problems with anyone that his roommate knew of, having left for work that morning as usual – nothing strange or out of the ordinary. His roommate provided contact information for Swanson's parents but had nothing else to offer. Detective Posen left her card and asked him to give her a call if he thought of anything that might help. Back at the station, she made a phone call to the local police department where the parents lived and arranged for a pair of officers to go the victim's parents to deliver the death notification.

Mitchell took a picture of the latest victim and taped it to the murder display board next to the others. "What I don't understand is he's alternating gender with his victims. Case in point, our last victim – Jesse Swanson." She then went on to tap on the other victims. "Ashley Jones, Bumper Allen, Florencia Fuentes. And he's not even staying within one ethnicity which another one-off with serial killers."

"But Swanson does fall in line with the hair color. Even though the victims aren't the same gender or ethnicity, they are all brunettes." Posen grabbed a marker and added this trait below the others beneath the victims' pictures. She tapped the fingers on one hand beneath her chin. "I don't know. Maybe this isn't a serial killer. We don't know the murders are legitimately connected."

Beca shook her head. "Naw… I have a gut feeling about this, Posen. Something tells me this is the same guy, especially with the injection marks. The age ranges. And the hair. Throw out the ethnicities, and we wouldn't question the nature of the killings."

Posen stood next to her partner, staring at the board. "Then, the question is, what else connects the four victims?" They both sighed simultaneously.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I think finding that connection can wait until tomorrow. I need some rest." Mitchell stretched her arms above her head then bent her body side to side. "I'm going to head back home and get some more sleep. Need a ride?"

* * *

Beca trudged from her car to the front door. Having been woken up on her day off hours ago, she was bone tired. A few hours of sleep would revive her so she could return to work refreshed and with a functioning mind. A twist of her key in the deadbolt revealed the house was not completely secure. A bit of irritation slid over her as she entered and locked the door behind her.

She knew she'd find Chloe in the kitchen – the redhead was waiting for her with a cup of tea. Beca took a sip of tea and sighed as she sank into a chair. "Chloe," the detective sighed, "we've talked about this. You have to be more careful. There's a possible serial killer loose in Barden who doesn't seem to discriminate with victims. Please lock the doors, including the deadbolt."

Chloe walked behind her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around her and kissing her cheek as she handed Beca a plate with a humongous sandwich. "I'll do better. Promise. Now eat."

The detective took a large bite of the ham and cheese sandwich and let her eyes roll back in her head before speaking. "The Barden Butcher, eh? That's not exactly the kind of scare tactic we're aiming for, Chlo." Beca was trying to not talk with her mouth full but was so hungry that those attempts were unsuccessful. "As Aubrey said, this killer doesn't butcher people. Even if these deaths _are_ connected." She added since they weren't altogether certain the murders were the work of a single person. "The deaths are hardly gruesome. Butcher – that word gives a different connotation. Strikes fear. I'm not sure Barden needs that."

"Did you not eat anything while you were out again?" Beca shook her head as she polished off the sandwich in record time. "Well, if you or Aubrey would give me some inside scoop on the killer, I could come up with a better name."

Beca explained that at this point, not much more information was available. All they knew was four people had died under possibly similar circumstances without regard to gender or race. "Honestly, that's all we know. I shouldn't even be telling you that much, but that's not exactly confidential information." She certainly wasn't going to mention the injection marks. That was on a need-to-know only basis.

The detective finished the chips on the plate and fell into bed to catch a bit of sleep before returning to the station.

* * *

After a few hours of sleep, a long shower, and a substantial hot meal, Beca was in a much better frame of mind when she walked back into the homicide precinct. She slid into her chair at her desk and began to type on the keyboard to her computer. "Let's see what we can find out," she muttered to herself.

The detective was elbows-deep in her research when her partner came in and placed a cardboard cup of Jacked Up coffee on Beca's desk. "You're up early, Mitchell. Find anything of interest?"

Beca pushed back from her computer and took a sip of her coffee. She lifted the cup in thanks to her partner. "Interestingly enough, yes." The detective explained as she pressed a button on her computer. A map appeared on one of the screens that had four colored squares and four triangles matching in color. "The squares represent where each victim lived, the triangles their work locations."

Aubrey was standing next to the screen, and Beca went to her side. The blonde tapped her chin with her pen. "Fascinating. They seemed to all have worked not too far from here, within a few blocks. What else?"

Beca pressed another button, and x's popped up to mark where the bodies were found. "Nothing substantial yet. I just put this information together. Easy schmeasy. There seems to be some commonalities in other locations, too. But that's not nearly enough to call this a serial killer, even with the hair color."

Aubrey slipped off her maroon blazer with notched lapels and hung it on the coat tree. Her tailor had fitted the jacket to hide the shoulder harness she chose to wear on some days. Today, her gun was strapped over a black, sleeveless tank that fell over maroon pants. "I see you also subpoenaed the victims' financial and phone records. Good job, Mitchell. Maybe we can get some more information from that, and tie these victims together." The blonde detective sat primly in her chair and began the process of starting up her computer.

Some of the male uniforms assigned to homicide were closely watching the interaction between detectives with interest. Usually, officers with aspirations to eventually earn their way to homicide worked with detectives as assistants in investigations. This particular detective pair was a prime assignment as they had the highest solve rate in the city. Their sometimes hysterical communication methods also made for humorous entertainment.

Beca turned to the senior uniform observing. "Do we still have the evidence bags? Stupid question; I know we do. Send a rookie to the evidence room and have them start laying out the evidence. Posen and I will be down in a bit." The brunette detective paused. "In fact, both of you go. The job will get done more quickly."

As the uniforms scurried off to do her partner's bidding, the blonde detective dug into her purse then tossed a newspaper over to her partner's desk before slumping into her chair. "I can't believe Chloe. I'm so frustrated with her that I could scream." Mitchell glanced at her associate, surprised by the lack of proper posture. Posen seemed to catch herself and sat up straight quickly.

Mitchell picked up the newspaper and flipped to the crime section. Her stomach dropped when she saw a picture of the latest crime scene – of Jesse Swanson's body covered by a sheet as the morgue workers prepared him for transport. Beneath the image was an article with Chloe's by-line. After a quick scan, the detective tossed the paper down and ran her fingers through her hair.

"I can't believe she's labeled him the Barden Butcher. There's going to be mass hysteria." Beca was irritated and feeling that maybe their on-again, off-again bed-sharing wasn't such a good idea after all.

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "I'll talk to her. Sucks to have a crime reporter as a best friend. Let's go down to the lab and see if Dr. Conrad has come up with anything."


	2. Victim Five

Mitchell and Posen had been working together for about two years. While they both made detective around the same time, they came from different precincts and divisions. Posen had worked with a gang unit across town, and Mitchell undercover in narcotics.

When they were first assigned to pair up, both women put up a fight to be assigned a new partner. An incident involving both of them early in their careers had put them at odds with each other. However, the homicide captain made it clear that they either partnered up or both wait for new assignments that were few and far between for new detectives.

Eventually, the new detectives worked out their differences and, despite having opposite personalities, the pair worked well together in homicide. Each detective brought a different set of skills to the partnership. Mitchell's analytical skills were top-notch as she was well-versed in finding connections between victims and between victims and suspects. Posen's skills were more observational.

* * *

_Flashback Four Weeks_

Dr. Conrad had two bodies laid out on autopsy tables down in the morgue. While only two days separated discovery of the victims, forensic evidence and information from friends and co-workers pointed to the estimated time of death to be a few weeks apart. The woman died about two weeks earlier while the man about a week after that. Both victims were Caucasian and relatively young.

"What are we looking at Dr. Conrad?"

The tall, leggy medical examiner pulled off her gloves and face mask. "Of course, any results at this point are preliminary. But, if I had to call it right now, I'd have to say heart attack for both casualties, which is suspect. Both these victims are too young for heart disease and would be a huge coincidence if that were the case. Have you found how who they are yet?"

Detective Posen was leaned against a storage cabinet as she let her eyes drift over both victims. "The female is Ashley Jones. We only know that because her roommate found her in her dorm room. She'd been an active missing person's case." Posen asked if dental records could serve instead of family body identification. "No mother should have to see their child like this." The advanced composition seemed to rattle the detective. Dr. Conrad agreed to make the comparison as soon as the parents delivered the records.

"We believe the male is Bumper Allen. He was discovered in the stairwell of a three-story walk-up by a vagrant looking for a warm place to sleep. We are running his fingerprints you gave us through AFIS and are still waiting for results."

Aubrey paused, tilting her head sideways as she looked at the victims. The blonde detective pulled gloves on and held a clear face protector over her eyes and mouth. She reached for a stand-mounted magnifying device and pulled it over to the female victim and stared at a place on the side of the throat. She then repeated her examination on the male victim.

"Did you see this?" she asked the medical examiner. Dr. Conrad walked over to where the detective stood, leaned down, and looked to where the detective pointed. "It's the same on the female, barely visible due to the skin slippage."

"Is that a needle mark? How did I miss that and on both victims to boot? I'll look at this more closely, but if that's the case, I can't exactly label these as natural deaths."

_End Flashback_

* * *

After pouring over the toxicology reports from the latest casualty, Dr. Conrad felt she finally had a reliable determination on what they were now considering serial killer was using to kill his victims. While the official cause of death was a heart attack, she was positive that an injected substance triggered the heart attacks. The quick collection of blood from the last victim finally allowed her to identify the poison.

That toxin was batrachotoxin. The most familiar form of this poison came from the skin of tiny, colorful frogs living in South America, most commonly known for being used by natives on venom-tipped blow-darts. This poison killed by interfering with sodium ion channels in the cells of muscles and nerves, jamming them open so that they do not close. The continued migration of Na+ ions resulted ultimately in heart failure.

Dr. Conrad only suspected chemical interference in the murders because of the injection marks in the necks of each of the victims. Had Detective Posen not noticed needle marks on the first two victims, the deaths would have most likely been ruled fluke heart attacks, and nobody would be the wiser. She carefully examined each body of questionable cause of death that came into her morgue for similar injection sites.

The medical examiner turned as she heard the doors to the laboratory slide open, and footsteps marked the arrival of the two homicide detectives working the serial murders. She turned away from the vent hood, pulling the cover down to trap any remaining fumes. Dr. Conrad pulled off her protective gloves and pushed her mask up. "If it isn't my two favorite dicks."

Detective Mitchell shuddered. "I hate when you call us that, _Dr._ Conrad." She walked over and poked her tall friend in the stomach. "That is such an anti-feminist term."

"As much as I hate to break up this chummy show of affection, _Dr._ Conrad, we came down into the dungeons of this pit you call a workplace to see what progress you've made on the serial murderer cases."

"Why, yes, _Detective_ Posen. It's nice to see you, and here." The doctor pulled out her completed research and showed the detectives what she learned about the toxin. "I just forwarded my conclusions to both your e-mails. Batrachotoxin is extremely rare, but it's without a doubt the poison used. I don't think the killer was counting on us noticing the puncture marks on the victims. Or maybe he was." She shrugged.

She explained that the cause of death for each target would probably remain a heart attack, but final death certificates would not be issued. Instead, temporary death certificates would be issued stating _cause of death undetermined pending police investigation. _The department had not released information about the punctures nor the poison. The detectives and medical examiner all agreed that's the way it would stay until they got a handle on the situation.

The press had noticed some commonalities, including age ranges, location of the bodies, etc. But for the general public, there was not enough information for the department to admit the deaths were possibly the works of a single serial killer. Nonetheless, the police department could not ignore the rumblings in the media in fear they would cause widespread panic.

The public relations department would hold a press conference and make announcements around the temporary death certificates. Meanwhile, the homicide department would continue the search for physical links between the victims and for ideas on how to stop him. Yet they were confident the same perpetrator was responsible for each murder, and Barden had a serial killer on their hands.

* * *

Detective Mitchell was thankful for her partner's observations. Detective Posen often caught things others didn't, like the needle marks that ended up allowing them to connect the victims and to search for more clues. Posen also brought a sense of style Mitchell hadn't realize was needed in police work. She said an extra air of professionalism added to her authority on a crime scene and when dealing with witnesses.

Mitchell brought in comic relief, often to her partner's chagrin. She had learned to tone down her wiseass remarks to her partner though she hadn't yet managed to altogether reign in her habit of raising an eyebrow when she didn't believe a suspect. Posen called it her "tell" and scolded her that the trait was sometimes not a good thing, particularly when interrogating suspects.

Electronic sleuthing was Detective Mitchell's forte, her analytical mind allowing her to know where to dig and how deep. A judge had granted the search warrant she'd requested. The financial data and telephone records were in the process of being loaded into the appropriate databases. She'd downed her fourth cup of what sludge that passed for coffee from the break room as she spun her pen on her thumb while waiting.

After visiting the M.E.'s office, Mitchell and her partner had gone down to the evidence room where the officers had carefully spread out the evidence from the crime scenes on separate tables – items from the victims' pockets, other personal belongings, things from nearby trash receptacles, etc. Mitchell wanted to see everything with her own eyes and spent a bit of time rearranging some of the items to an order known only to her mind.

The brunette detective handed one of the officers a bulky digital camera. "Now, your task is to photograph each item in order as they are on the table. First, take a picture of the item then the evidence tag if there is one. Once that's all done, re-box the evidence and bring me the camera."

The officer groaned as he realized the enormity of the task she'd assigned him. When the detective glared at him, he straightened up and said, "yes, detective."

Mitchell laughed as the cuffed him on the shoulder and went back to her desk. The digitized evidence, along with the receipts, could be loaded into a new computer program she was piloting as a part of an FBI project. The detective plugged every bit of information into the machine, and artificial intelligence began to attempt to make connections.

Mitchell was involved in the project because she had a reputation for making such connections just with good old-fashioned police work. She could help tweak the program and make suggestions for the FBI. If successful, the program would save hundreds of working hours in investigating serious crimes.

Mitchell knew the officers would be several hours cataloging evidence from four crime scenes, so she was going through the information she'd received thus far old school. Posen was checking her sources to try to trace the poison Dr. Conrad had identified in the murders. Both detectives' phones rang simultaneously. "Detective Mitchell here."

"Aubrey Posen."

The partners locked eyes as they told the callers they were on their way. Detective Posen insisted on driving as she shrugged on her fitted jacket, buttoning a single button to obscure her service revolver.

"I can't believe we haven't made progress on this case," Beca resisted hitting the dash of Posen's squad car as it would only set her blonde partner off.

"Not exactly. You did discover the commonalities of their work and home locations, and Dr. Conrad has solved the mystery of the poison used to trigger the heart attacks. I would say we are making some progress."

"But he seems to be escalating. This is his second victim in, what? Two, three days? We can't even process the clues from the other murders."

"We'll be working a lot of overtime then, eh?"

* * *

The detectives managed to get to the crime scene before the news went out over the scanners. Because of the sensitive nature of the crimes, patrol officers had a standing order to call in crimes that fell into specific parameters directly to their captain, avoiding alerting the public, particularly the media.

The deceased had been discovered several feet down an alley. The young, petite, brunette female had on a polka dot button-down shirt under a purple cardigan, jeans, and sneakers. It appeared as though she had hit the ground when she fell as blood was matted in her hair and congealing on the pavement.

As the detectives began to work the scene and assign various tasks to the officers hanging outside the cordoned-off area, Mitchell hitched her head towards the small crowd. Posen's eyes narrowed, and she angrily huffed out her breath as she caught sight of a particular redhead reporter. She was the first and only press person – right outside the yellow tape.

Without warning, a young man came barreling around the corner and ducked under the caution tape blocking off the scene. Several uniforms grabbed him by the arms to hold her back and try to force him back under the tape. He was fighting them tooth and nail, calling for "Emily" with his arms outstretched towards the victim.

Posen was still looking over the scene for clues and told her partner to see what the disturbance was. By the time Mitchell got to the young man, tears were streaming down his face. "Ems? Is that Emily?" He was in hysterics.

The detective knew she'd be unable to put her arms around the man's shoulders due to the height difference, so she had the officers guide him to take a seat on the steps out of sight of the body but still inside the tape. She had the uniforms block the hysterical young man from the prying eyes of the onlookers.

"I'm Detective Mitchell." She tried to keep her voice calm and soothing. "What's your name, hon?"

"Benji." The man choked his breath, trying to calm him. "Benjamin Applebaum."

Detective Mitchell got one of the uniforms to bring him a bottle of water to help the guy settle himself. "Okay, Benji. Tell me about Emily. What's Emily's last name?"

Mitchell and Benji talked for a bit as the detective collected information from the man. He said the victim was Emily Junk, his fiancé. She learned that Emily had texted this morning to let him know he was on his way over with hot chocolate from the coffee shop where he worked just around the corner.

"I didn't think anything about it when she didn't show up because sometimes she gets caught up or distracted. I had a funny feeling this afternoon and decided to walk by the shop on my way home. When I saw the crowd and the police tape, I had a bad feeling."

Mitchell looked over at her partner who motioned her over. The detective excused herself and went back over to the now covered body. She showed Posen the picture Benji had texted her. They raised the tarp and compared the face with the victim. After talking for a few moments, the detectives decided to take him back to his apartment to interview him in a more private environment.

* * *

Dealing with a distraught loved one was draining. Benji was such a sweet young man with an innocent air who was devastated at seeing his fiancé lying in the alley, blood pooling around her head, knowing she was dead. After the interview, the detectives were uncomfortable with leaving Benji alone in his apartment. They had him call a friend to stay with him. He told them he didn't think he could contact his fiance's parents, who lived locally. So, uniforms were sent to the parents' house to make the notification.

After a long day of processing data from the previous scenes and then this new murder, the detectives were exhausted. Posen drove her partner back to the station to pick up their personal cars. On the way back, the blonde started harping on her associate again.

"If you are still on the fence about sprucing up your wardrobe, how about letting my stylist tackle your hair?"

Mitchell's mouth dropped open in shock as she looked over at her partner, whose eyes remained glued to the road in front of them. Her uncharacteristic smirk made Mitchell who wasn't sure if Posen was kidding or not. "And exactly what is wrong with my hair?"

Posen reached over and twirled a strand of Mitchell's hair around her finger. "I think you need a new color to cover up this mousy brown, blonde, perhaps?"

"My hair is not mousy," the brunette detective's voice was indignant. "And I so would not look good as a blonde. Rumor has it blondes do _not_ have more fun.

"How about some blonde highlights? I think you'd look good with a change."

"You just don't like anything about me, do you, Posen?" Mitchell laughed since she knew her partner was harassing her. (She hoped)

As they pulled into the Mitchell invited Posen over for take-out, but the blonde detective declined, saying she had something else to take care of before heading home.

"Don't stay out late, Posen. You need food and rest as much as I do. G' night."

* * *

"How did you get to that crime scene before it went out over the police scanner?" Aubrey paced back and forth in Chloe's kitchen with her best friend sitting on one of the stools looking chagrined. "Chloe, I'm serious. People know you're my best friend. If anyone notices you appearing prematurely, I'm likely to get the blame."

"It's called freedom of the press, Bree. First amendment? I'm certain you've heard of it." Chloe didn't like her friend's arrogant attitude and picked up one of her own. "You knew I was a reporter when you befriended me. In fact, I believe you've exploited our relationship on more than one occasion." Aubrey whipped her head around and glared at her redheaded friend. She didn't like the accusation of impropriety.

Chloe caught the expression change on her friend's face. "And since then, you've become my closest friend." Chloe changed her voice and put a calming hand on the blonde's shoulder. "I was coming to drop off lunch for you and your partner when I saw you guys rushing out to get into your squad. Naturally, I followed."

"Mitchell? Were you bringing her lunch? Why were you bringing food for her? What's going on between you two?" Aubrey shot another scowl at her best friend who assured her that she only wanted to make sure the detectives ate.

"I wasn't bringing her food. I just happened to have enough for both of you. I know how you get Aubrey. You never take care of yourself. I swear you thrive on caffeine and donuts." That last part got a well-deserved glower from the blonde. "You need real food regularly."

"Thank you for trying to bring me food. But promise me you'll be careful, especially at the scenes. Quit following me!" She hugged the redhead. "Besides, you know I can't give you special treatment. I could lose my gold badge and be busted back to patrol in the gang unit. And stay away from Mitchell."


	3. Busted

The detectives were elbows deep in research over the next few days. Mitchell had updated all the data into the FBI program and was trying different commands to coax out connections. She was required to verify the artificial intelligence connections with notes from her traditional investigative work. Yet she had completed a lot of her work before the data was fully loaded so some of the authentications were a reverse process.

In any investigation involving more than one victim, Detective Mitchell always started with trying to make associations between locations. Narrowing down where the crimes happened often helped identify where a killer might live, work, or strike again. She had verified that all home and work or school locations for each victim were all within a ten-minute walk of each other. When processing pairs of points of interest rather than each full set, the FBI program tightened that distance to four minutes.

When she started manually crunching credit card data, her vision began to blur. The detective put her head in her hands and began to rub her eyes. She heard the click, click, click from her partner's heels about the time she spoke. "No sleeping on the job, Mitchell."

When Mitchell heard a clunk on her desk next to her head, she squinted her eyes open. She wrapped her hands around the cup of Jacked Up coffee, warming up my hands. "Ahhhh, you are a godsend, Posen. I'm just letting Arti do her work."

"Arti?" Posen took her seat across the desk from her partner.

"Yeah, Arti – my FBI program. Artificial intelligence is too many syllables. And A.I. seems impersonal. So I named her Arti."

"Has she given you anything useful?" Posen looked as tired as her partner felt.

Mitchell showed her the new information about distance. She circled all the victim pair locations that were less than four minutes apart and explained the finding. "She's still getting fed credit card data. How's the research on the batrachotoxin?"

Posen tossed some printouts over to her partner's desk. "Batrachotoxin is naturally occurring and only found certain species of beetles, birds, and frogs – typically in South America. Columbian natives used the frog toxin for hunting big game."

Mitchell tapped on one of the frog pictures on the handout. "I've seen these guys at the zoo. Maybe we need to contact them to see if any specimens have gone missing."

The blonde shook her head. "Apparently poison dart frogs raised in captivity aren't poisonous. And since they are an endangered species, their harvest in South America is illegal. I'll keep looking though." Posen said that she'd also began to research illegal means of obtaining access to the deadly poison.

Impatient for autopsy results, Posen wanted to go to the morgue to get confirmation of the cause of death for Emily Junk directly from the source. Dr. Conrad corroborated the death was consistent with the others. "I do not have much experience in the area of abnormal psychology, only what I learned about the physiology during my psych rotation. The development of a serial killer requires first that they have the appropriate biological predisposition, right?"

Posen nodded, affirming what the medical examiner said. "And a key defining incident generally presents itself during a critical time in their social development. No generic template exists, just a killer driven by unique motives."

Mitchell was sitting on a rolling stool and shoved back towards the wall. "In our abnormal psych seminar, we learned the differences between serial murderers lies in the types of disorganized behaviors they exhibit. Studies suggest that there's a categorical division of serial murderers based on the way they interact with their victims, one of those being the execution of the acts. There doesn't seem to be a specific combination of traits or characteristics which differentiates serial killers from other violent offenders."

"I don't recall a serial killer ever working locally in Barden before. I hope we never get one again." Dr. Conrad shook her head as she finished up her official notes on the Junk body. "This has been stressful as hell."

"Tell me about it." Mitchell stood up to leave and followed her partner back to their office.

* * *

Both detectives were showing the wear and tear of the stressful investigation of what had now been labeled in-house as a serial killer. Since no new victims had turned up in a few days, their captain ordered them both home early for some much-needed rest. Detective Posen didn't have to be told twice and took off immediately.

As she was getting ready to go, Detective Mitchell got caught up in some of the data Arti spit out. She sat back down and began to scan information. An hour later, she still had her head buried in her computer. When her captain came out of his office, he grabbed her by the scruff of her jacket and dragged her to the door. She had just enough time to dump the new data to a USB drive and shut down her computer.

Mitchell hadn't had time to process everything she'd seen mentally and knew she needed the brain break. If she went home, the detective would pick up where she left off with the investigation. An evening off was required to clear her head. She called Chloe to see if she was up for some company. Luckily the redhead was delighted for a chance to see her.

* * *

When Chloe opened the door, Beca held up the bags she was carrying. "I brought dinner."

"Ohhh, yummy." Chloe rubbed her hands together as she relieved the detective of the Thai take-out. "What did you get?"

"A variety – chicken satay, chicken curry puffs, wok ginger curry with beef, pad thai with shrimp, maybe a few other things." Beca double-locked the front door behind her and shrugged off her coat. "Oh, and mango sticky rice."

The reporter pushed the coffee table away from the couch a bit and began to spread out the food. Beca joined her on the sofa with two glasses, a bottle of pinot noir, and a few plates. She poured wine while Chloe began to dish out the food. They ate in silence for a while as Beca wound down from the tediousness of work research.

Once the main meal the two finished their main meal, Chloe pushed herself back and settled comfortably against the cushions. Beca eyed the sticky rice then rolled her eyes back in her head. "Maybe I'll try it in a bit when my stomach settles." She patted her belly. "I've missed you, Chlo."

Chloe snuggled into Beca's side as she replied, "You, too, Becs. I'm delighted you came over."

* * *

The next morning, a loud banging on Chloe's door shocked Beca awake. When she rolled over, her naked breasts pressed against Chloe's back. "Chlo, Chloe, someone's at your door." The tiny brunette kissed the reporter's shoulder and tried to shake her awake. "Come on, Chloe. Wake up."

"Baaaaaaby," Chloe's whine was adorable – annoying but charming. "Will you get that, please? I'm sooooooooooo tired." She gave a huge yawn.

"But I'm naked. What if it's your mom?"

"She's seen me naked." Chloe was still trying to wake up and not making a lick of sense. She pulled her hand from beneath the blanket and motioned to the bathroom door. "Robe. Over there."

Against her better judgment, Beca crawled out of bed and pulled on Chloe's robe. The banging on the door continued as she made sure it was tied so that nothing showed. "Hang on; I'm coming," Beca called out to the person on the other side. She unlocked the door and yanked it open. "What?" When she heard a gasp, Beca looked up at who was on the other side.

"Mitchell? What the fuck are you doing there? And why are you wearing Chloe's robe?"

Beca reached out, grabbed her partner's elbow, and pulled her inside Chloe's house. Neither knew what to say, so they stood, staring at each other. "Shit, shit, shit," Beca mumbled under her breath.

"Who was at the door, sweetie?" Chloe had her head down as she was tying another robe around her waist when she came out of the bedroom. When she looked up, she, too, froze. "Aubrey? What are you doing here?"

"You are my best friend, Chloe. Do I have to have a reason to come see you?" She pointed at a rapidly retreating Beca. "You are sleeping with my partner? It looks like we seemingly need to catch up."

Chloe had made her way to the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee. She hadn't noticed the two cups of take-out coffee her friend had with her.

"You've got that 'freshly fucked' look, Chloe. It doesn't suit you." Aubrey was quite arrogant and clearly disgusted with her best friend.

"I believe you've mistaken that look for my 'just woke up' look, Bree. Help yourself to coffee; I'm going to get dressed." The redhead went to walk around her friend, who had parked herself in the middle of the kitchen. Aubrey grabbed her arm.

"Nuh-uh. Nope. You aren't going in there. _Mitchell's _in there. I can only imagine how long it will take the two of you to come back out."

"Don't worry about it, Posen." Having gotten cleaned up and dressed in record time, Beca emerged from the bedroom. "I won't distract her." The brunette turned to Chloe. "I guess the cat is out of the bag now. I'm going to head home, though. Message me later?" Beca reached over to snag one of the cardboard cups of coffee from Aubrey and held it up in the form of thanks as her partner huffed and stomped her foot in anger.

Chloe nodded as she pressed a kiss on Beca's cheek. "Bye, babe."

No sooner had Beca left did Aubrey launch into her verbal abuse of her friend. "Babe? Seriously? That's my partner, Chloe Beale. Not only is there some weird kind of 'bro code' being broken here, but ewwww. What on earth possessed you to sleep with my partner?"

The redhead shrugged. "What can I say? She's hot."

"Wait! I know what's going on here. I won't give you the scoop on crime scenes. You sleep with _my partner_ so she'll give you an advantage. _That's_ how you made it to the last scene before the call went out on the scanner. Mitchell messaged you."

"No, Aubrey. I told you. I saw you coming out of the station and followed." Not believing her, Aubrey rolled her eyes. Chloe pushed out her lower lip in her best pout. "Don't blame Beca, Aubrey. She didn't know I was behind you guys either. Plus, she's already chewed me out for that stunt, too, same as you."

Chloe reached for the other coffee Aubrey had brought when her friend slapped her hand away. "This one's mine. The _hot one_ took yours." She waved her hand towards Chloe's coffee pot. "Your peasant coffee is ready."

* * *

Detective Mitchell was at work early the next day, pouring over credit card receipts and trying to verify the connections Arti had made. She hadn't been there long before her partner came in and set down a solo cardboard cup of Jacked Up coffee at her own desk. Detective Posen was silent as she took off her overcoat and hung it neatly on the corner rack before slipping into her chair across the workspace. The blonde detective was blatantly ignoring her partner. The first clue – she didn't bring Beca coffee from Jacked Up which was a few doors down from the precinct.

The smaller detective's grumbles were quite loud as she stomped to the break room to pour a cup of what the precinct tried to pass off as coffee. When a substantial amount of the gunk sloshed out onto her desk as she slammed her mug down, Beca cursed as she fumbled for some paper towels to rescue her paperwork.

Detective Posen lept up as the coffee spread across the connected desks. "What the hell, Mitchell? Clean that shit up." She backed up as her eyes were glued on the coffee spreading across the papers. She reached for some more paper towels and threw them in the direction of the partner. "Get it off the desk. **NOW!**" She was shouting in a very non-Posen manner.

"What is **wrong** with you, Posen? It's coffee, not hydrochloric acid."

Detective Posen looked at her partner dubiously then looked down at her suit. After a long pause to gather her wits, she replied, "you spilled your coffee on your own accord. Be happy you didn't get any of that nasty goo on me." Aubrey's eyes briefly shined with an evil glint that quickly disappeared behind her usual calm demeanor. "Perhaps I should ask what's wrong with you, Mitchell."

Since most of the spilled coffee had now soaked into paper towels, Beca dumped them into the garbage. She then returned to the break room to replenish her mug. "Like this sludge is worth it," she muttered to herself. She secretly looked forward to her first coffee of the day to be what her partner brought her, but she'd never let Posen know that.

She took a seat at the desk to try to clear her head a bit after Posen's ridiculous outburst. Mitchell could only presume that the cold shoulder she was getting was because Aubrey had caught her at Chloe's house. Since she had answered the door right out of bed, wearing one of Chloe's robes nonetheless, there was no way to talk her way out of that situation.

Beca had known that sleeping with Chloe had been a bad idea. They had not started with dating to begin with – more like a drunken one-night fling that morphed into two nights and continued into whatever it was now. Regardless of how bad of an idea it might have been or might still be, Chloe was like a drug – fun as hell yet dangerously addictive.

Beca hadn't talked to Chloe since she left yesterday morning, so she wasn't sure where things stood with Posen and Chloe. Hell, she wasn't sure where things stood with herself and Posen. The two detectives didn't always see eye to eye, but their working relationship had always been rock solid. And now, Beca didn't know where that stood either.

Despite the stilted communication between the pair of detectives, the evidence from the last scene managed to get processed. Posen refused to stay in the same room and volunteered to go to the evidence cage to photograph the evidence collected at Emily Junk's scene. Mitchell continued verifying Arti's connections.

* * *

Later that night, Chloe fumbled for her phone as she tried to pull herself from a deep sleep. When she saw the time and the caller, she bolted upright, her heart racing a hundred miles an hour. "Aubrey? Are you okay?" Her voice sounded like gravel in a cement mixer. Her best friend never called her in the middle of the night. Ever. When Aubrey told her she was okay, Chloe could feel herself relax a bit.

"Chloe? Is Beca with you? I know what I said to you the other day when she answered the door in your robe but is she there?"

The redhead let Aubrey know that she hadn't seen nor heard from Beca since she left two mornings ago when Aubrey showed up and caught them together. "I figured you read her the riot act, and she called things off between us." Chloe fell back to the bed and curled onto her side, tucking her second pillow to her chest.

"Seriously, Chloe. I need to talk to her. She's not answering her phone, and I thought she'd be with you."

"Don't know what to tell you, Bree. After you showed up, she said she'd message. But she never did. I'm giving her space. She'll call me if and when she's ready to see me again." Chloe gave a huge yawn. "I'm going back to sleep. G'night." She ended the call and rolled over on her back.

As the redhead's mind slowly began to clear and she realized that Aubrey had called her looking for Beca. She wondered how long Aubrey hadn't been able to get in touch with Beca. Her friend's anxiety was quickly seeping into her psyche.

One thing that Chloe was sure about Beca was that she'd never ignored a call from her partner. Regardless of what she was doing or who she was doing for all that matters, much to Chloe's chagrin. Beca's sense of loyalty to work and her partner was unbreakable. A bit of worry began to creep into Chloe's subconscious. She knew Beca could take care of herself, but if Aubrey couldn't get in touch with her…

She opened her phone and scrolled to Beca's contact. Calling might make her seem a little clingy or pitiful. But a little over a week had passed since Aubrey had come to her house and found out about Beca; thus, it had been that long since she'd heard from the tiny cop. Truth be told, she missed her. So Chloe thumbed out a quick yet truthful message.

_[From Chloe: Hey Becs. Haven't heard from you in a while. Miss you.]_

Chloe wasn't one to typically be overly alarmed when someone ghosted her. While she felt she was a pretty good catch, sometimes situations weren't always right — another place, another time perhaps. With Beca, however, something was different. Something felt… off with the brunette detective being out of touch.


	4. Captivity

The cell phone in the person's hand lit up with a message. The person laughed as they read the words on the lock screen without opening the application. "Awwwww how sweet. Someone misses you." The person roughly grabbed Beca's hand and forced her thumb on the unlock button. They then held down the power button to shut off the phone and placed it on the worktable. "I'll put this right here… in case you need it."

Beca struggled to no avail against the cuffs binding her hands behind her back and the chains which tightly tied her feet and wrapped around her waist. The situation was clear that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The hood over her head let in a bit of light but not enough for her to identify her surroundings or her captor. All she could do was listen to electronic laughter echoing off the basement walls as her kidnapper went up the steps, snapped off the lights, and locked the door.

Upstairs, the perpetrator flipped off the voice modulator that distorted their voice, tossed it on the table, and laughed as they went to work.

* * *

Chloe gave Beca until the next day to respond to her text. When she saw that the Beca hadn't even read the message, her concern grew. That evening, the redhead broke down and called the brunette only to have the call to go directly to voicemail. She immediately phoned Aubrey to find out if she'd heard from her partner. When her friend told her Beca had been unresponsive, Chloe became concerned.

"Something's up, Aubrey. I feel it in my bones."

"I agree. Beca hasn't shown up for work in three days now. The tech analyst at work cannot locate her cell signal. The power on her phone must be off. Internally we're treating this as a missing person case but trying to keep it from the media – and that means no scoop for you. Please. If you care anything at all about Beca, keep it out of the news."

"Point taken, Aubrey. Any news on the killer?"

"Not now, Chloe. Not now."

* * *

Chloe decided to clean her house as a distraction about Beca being missing. She stripped her bed and tossed her dirty sheets into a pile on the floor of her bedroom before stretching the fresh bottom sheet onto her mattress. The redhead shook the top sheet free from its folds and let it settle before tucking in the corners then pulling up her comforter. When Chloe bent down to gather the dirty bedding, she saw a small object lying right under the edge of her bed. A USB drive. Curious, Chloe tucked the device in her pocket before taking her sheets to the washing machine.

When the redhead finished her chores, she settled in at her home office desk and fired up her laptop. As the USB loaded, Chloe opened the files and saw they were Beca's work files, mostly investigation she had done on the possible serial killer that was petrifying Barden. Instinctively she reached for her reporter's notebook to capture some details for a new story. When she realized what she was reading, she pushed the spiral aside and buried herself in the details.

* * *

Beca wasn't sure how the kidnapper got the jump on her. The serial killer cases she'd been investigating had put her on high alert and quite aware of her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was leaving work and heading to the parking garage. After that – nothing. Her next awareness was of waking up with a hell of a headache, bound and chained to a straight chair. The damp cold wasn't helping any, but it did tell her she was probably in a warehouse somewhere or a basement.

Because she was restrained and blindfolded, Beca had a great deal of time to think. She had tried everything she could to get loose but couldn't – so getting lost in her mind was all she could do. She had to put her brain at ease somewhat by having faith that her partner would somehow find and rescue her from whoever was holding her captive. She trusted the blonde with her life and had to believe that her partner would save her.

The detective's mind drifted back to her first interaction with Aubrey.

* * *

_Flashback_

Beca was working undercover with the drug unit. Her small, unimposing nature and standoffish attitude were perfect for the covert position. After several months of tedious and dangerous work, she had managed to infiltrate one of the most high-profile drug organizations in the city. She tried to position herself as close as possible to the leaders of the group while staying as invisible as possible. This plan had served her well because the men seemed to see her as just another junkie in the corner who nothing more than an errand girl. Doing so, she heard about everything that went on in those rooms.

The undercover officer discovered a pending delivery of a massive shipment of cocaine in the matter of a few days. The news was exactly what the drug unit had been waiting for – their break at starting to dismantle this kingpin's territory. Beca somehow managed to get away from the dealers long enough to contact her handler. Immediate plans were set into motion to raid the warehouse where the buy was going to happen.

Beca knew how the bust would go down since she'd participated in several dozen in her career. The task force wanted to maintain her cover, so she'd be swept up in the raid with the rest of the dealers. Back at the station, she'd be separated from the others and eventually released. After a few days of rest and relaxation, she'd get back into character and head back to the drug den.

* * *

On the day of the raid, Beca did her best to ensure the key players were in the warehouse for the delivery. If the right guys didn't get arrested, she'd have to spend a lot more time undercover to capture the rest. Despite trusting her team members and S.W.A.T. that would be busting in, she remained nervous since the cops could never tell when things would go south, especially when the bad guys inevitably had bigger and better weapons than the good guys.

When the chaos started, Beca tried to make herself as small as possible against the wall. She quickly scanned the police who had surrounded the drug dealers, recognizing some officers but not others. Usually, the drug squad recruited officers from other units to help with big busts. These were probably some from the gang task force.

A blonde officer zeroed in on the small brunette huddled away from the action. The tiny woman was dirty, her hair matted and stringy with grungy and torn up clothes. The cop smirked as she glanced around at her colleagues who were having a time beating down the bigger guys. She knew this little tweaker would be easy to bag.

"Atlanta P.D. Freeze! Lay down with your hands out to your side." The officer trained her assault rifle on the tiny offender who had made her way to her hands and knees. "I said on your stomach!" The druggie was so close that the officer switched to her non-lethal for safety reasons.

Before she realized what happened, the addict dove for her, wrapping her arms around the officer. Soon the two were grappling in an all-out fight, and the blonde officer's taser went flying out of reach. As soon as the officer thought she had the offender under control, the twerp squirmed out of her grasp again and continued to flail her arms and kick her legs to keep the officer from being able to pin her down.

Another officer came over to help hold Beca down despite her giving no indication she was going to give up no matter how many cops piled on her. She struggled and fought tooth and nail. As she swung her head back and forth, her forehead caught the blonde officer's and created a long split right above her brow. As blood poured down her face, the female officer put her knee on Beca's face pinning her to the ground while the other officer managed to put the cuffs on Beca. When the blonde got up, she aimed to place a kick Beca's ribs and drew back her leg.

The assisting officer caught her right before she connected and pulled her back. "Posen, no! She's down and in custody. Don't push it. She's not worth your badge."

Officer Posen reached down to grab the undercover cop by her elbow and yanked her to her feet, about wrenching her arm out of the socket. "Feisty little bitch," she muttered in the druggie's ear. Beca glared at the cop and kept struggling as the blonde officer dragged her to the police van. After she was read her rights and searched, her wrists were zip-tied, and the cuffs removed. Someone shoved her into the police van with the other offenders.

_End flashback_

* * *

About a year after that incident, both Mitchell and Posen had been promoted to detective and transferred to homicide. When the captain introduced them to each other as partners, Posen cocked her head sideways, a slight look of recognition crossing her face. Mitchell hadn't seen the blonde since the drug raid but immediately recognized her. She knew her new partner would eventually remember why her face was familiar.

The tiny brunette motioned to the long scar above Posen's eye. "I don't think I ever apologized for that." She tried to play off the comment as nonchalant. But her voice betrayed her, and a sheepish grin crossed her face as her voice cracked nervously.

"Hmmpft." The blonde crossed her arms and glared down at the woman who the captain just assigned to her as a partner. "I remember you now. Yeah, thanks for the daily reminder of that little bust."

Both detectives tried to get out of the partnership, but their boss told them reassignment would take quite some time. If they honestly wanted to be detectives in this lifetime, they'd work out their differences. And that's what they did. Now their partnership was infallible, seamless.

Beca's memories kept her hopes of being rescued alive. While Posen was miffed at her because she found out about Chloe, Beca knew her partner would never let her down. She knew that if Posen could forgive her for splitting her forehead open all those years ago, that she would forgive her for Chloe. Beca held every bit of confidence that Posen was out there right now looking for her and wouldn't stop until she found her.

* * *

Someone began beating on Chloe's door and startled the reporter. She frantically closed the folders and files on her laptop, ejected the USB, and hid the fresh notebook in which she'd started taking notes. Her heart was pounding when she opened the door and was relieved when she saw her best friend standing there.

"Took you long enough. What were you doing?" Aubrey pushed past the redhead without waiting for an invitation.

"Umm," Chloe stumbled over her words as she grasped at what to say. "Research for a story."

"The Barden Butcher?" Aubrey snorted as she rolled her eyes.

"N – n – no," Chloe stuttered. "A different one. Is there any update on Beca?"

Aubrey sighed as she went to the cabinet, retrieved a glass, and poured from the wine bottle Chloe had open on the counter. "Not yet. I wanted to ask you a few questions. If that's okay." She topped off her friend's glass as well.

Chloe motioned to the couch. "Sure. I'm not sure what I could say that would help you." When Aubrey pulled out a notebook, Chloe's eyes widened with concern. "Wait, are you here officially? Or as my friend?"

"As your friend, of course," Aubrey sighed. "I'm worried and hoped you could shed some light." She poised her pen above the spiral. "What has Mitchell's demeanor been lately?"

"I told you the other day - I haven't seen her since you caught us together."

"Did she mention anything about the investigation into the murders?"

Chloe threw a strange look at her friend. "Aubrey, what the hell does that have to do with Beca disappearing. And no, she hasn't shared anything that isn't public knowledge. Like you, she's got integrity and is faithful to the department." The redhead hoped her friend couldn't look right through her and see how nervous she was about the USB drive she'd found under her bed. "You know Beca better than that."

"I had to ask, Chloe. You know that." Aubrey drained her wine. "I'm going to try to keep your name out of this. But since you two were romantically involved, if the captain pulls me off the case, other detectives might find out. Since this isn't a homicide investigation and she's my partner, I'm sure the department will reassign the case soon. Consider this your warning." The blonde stood up and brushed out the wrinkles from her pants.

"My warning? Ummm, thanks? I guess." Chloe walked her friend to the door. "Let's just hope we find her before this does become a homicide."

As she shut the door behind Aubrey, Chloe was careful to use the double locks – thankful that Beca had drilled safety into her. She collapsed onto the couch, unable to stop the tears that now flowed freely. She was afraid for her girlfriend and utterly terrified of the conversation she'd just had.

* * *

Beca heard someone at the top of the stairs. She tried to remain as still as possible, listening for clues as to where her kidnapper might have her. When the door opened and footsteps came down the stairs, she wasn't sure what to expect. At first, she couldn't make sense of the noises until the distorted voice she'd heard earlier spoke. "I brought you food." The detective couldn't discern if the voice was male or female.

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to free your hands and go away. There is no chance of escaping. Your feet will stay bound, and you're chained to the chair. The basement egress window is blocked, and the door at the top of the stairs is reinforced steel." Beca could feel gloved hands unshackling her wrists. She began to rub the feeling back into her hands as the altered voice continued. "Keep the hood on until you hear me lock the door at the top of the stairs. I have cameras down here. I'll know every move you make."

The moment the locks slid into place upstairs, Beca yanked the hood off her head. Luckily her captor left one of the lights on so she wasn't entirely in the dark. She looked down and saw she wouldn't be able to get out of the chains around her waist and legs. She'd be a fool to waste her energy trying. To her left, beside the chair, was a sandwich, neatly cut in half arranged on a plate. Her stomach sank when she saw that next to it – a cup of Jacked Up coffee. Whoever her captor was seemed to be fucking with her.

Beca hadn't eaten in quite some time and shoved the sandwich into her mouth, making short work of her food before realizing her mistake. She should have saved some of it since there was no telling when the next time she might get a chance to eat would be. The coffee was still warm. Hot even. She closed her eyes, trying to fight off the sinking feeling she felt. However, she couldn't fight the urge to get caffeine into her body and started to sip the brew.

She then took a closer look at her surroundings, looking for a way to escape. As she turned around to examine the wall behind her, her face blanched. She nearly vomited the food she had just consumed. Now she was wondering if she'd ever get out of this basement alive. Hope for escape quickly fell by the wayside for Beca Mitchell.

Upstairs, her captor chuckled as they watched Beca's reaction to the pictures of the Barden Butcher victims taped to the wall over a map. Colored strings extended from each victim's image to where they lived and worked and to where their bodies were found – a lot like the electronic map Beca had created at the station. The abductor could see the exact moment that the kidnapped detective realized the killer had her and what was going on. Detective Mitchell's hope melted from her demeanor like butter on hot pancakes.

* * *

_**A/N: Happy Ho Ho, Hanukkah Sameach, and to whatever your holiday may be!**_


	5. Clues Clicking into Place

Chloe finally got the nerve to look at the data on the USB drive again. She started with the first folder labeled Hospital Records. She opened old scans of hospital records from 1993. A mother brought in her four-year-old child with severe burns to her upper thighs. The little girl was terrified and wouldn't talk. The mother claimed there had been a pot of hot coffee on the counter. Her daughter had grabbed the cord to try to pull herself up on the table, bringing the coffee pot down on her, burning her thighs with severe second-degree burns.

The names of the patient, parent, and doctor was blacked out. But Chloe made a note of the date of the incident and the name of the hospital to try to get more information. Pictures showing the severity of the injuries were in the folder. Surgical records described the debriding process that had taken place with the child under general anesthesia to avoid additional trauma from the intense pain which would occur.

There were also pictures of the burns in various stages of healing. The last photos showed significant scarring remained to the depth of tissue damage. The final files were therapy records for the child. Apparently, the child underwent psychotherapy for a few months after the incident. Chloe scanned over the notes, not wanting to invade the child's privacy any more than necessary. When therapy sessions abruptly stopped, the reporter assumed the child had quickly recovered from the trauma and was doing well.

The next five folders were with initials: AJ, BA, FF, JS, BB. When she clicked open the first folder and began to scan files, she realized these were Beca's personal notes from the Barden Butcher murders. She quickly closed the laptop lid as tightness spread across her chest. Chloe got up and poured a glass of cold water from the pitcher in the refrigerator. She drained it in one drink and poured another as she leaned against the counter.

The reporter looked at her closed laptop sitting on the table as she wondered what to do. Should she turn the drive over to Aubrey? Not look any further? She then began to think about why Beca would put such sensitive information on a USB drive and keep it in her pocket to boot. She should never have taken that information off her work computer.

Curiosity got the best of the reporter. She couldn't help what was in her nature but find the truth in the story. Investigate. Maybe if she could learn what Beca and Aubrey weren't telling her, she could figure who was killing Barden's young adults. Worries about locating Beca were pushed to the side as Chloe sat back down and opened her laptop again.

With the hospital records pulled up, the reporter called one of her contacts. Hopefully, he still worked at the hospital and could get the information she needed from that twenty-five-year hospital visit. She needed at least the name of that four-year-old girl who was burned so long ago.

* * *

After Beca's initial shock at seeing the pictures on the wall of her captor's basement, her detective mind kicked in as she started to search for clues about who was holding her hostage. No personal effects were visible, and the chair she was chained to was too heavy for her to explore the basement more than what she could see. She then began to look for tools that would aid an escape, such as a hacksaw or chisel.

When she found nothing, she realized that the person was most likely speaking the truth about being unable to get out even if she somehow got free from her bindings. From her training, Beca knew she had to stay positive, that losing hope would only make getting away more difficult.

So she sat. And thought. And simply existed. Beca jolted awake when she heard the lock on the upstairs door opening. Not sure if she had drifted off or had been daydreaming, Beca flipped her senses to high alert to ensure that she could identify her kidnapper. Her heart sank when the basement lights flipped off, and the room plunged into darkness.

She heard that same modulated voice chuckle. "You don't honestly think I am going to let you see my face, now do you? Besides, you know if I let you do that, I definitely would have to kill you. And we don't want that, now do we, Detective Mitchell?"

Beca squinted her eyes, trying to see more anyway. The person made such agile moves, avoiding the workbench, etc., that she presumed night-vision goggles were in play. Gloved hands snapped cuffs back around Beca's wrists, this time in the front, and pulled the hood back on.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I won't say anything if you let me go." Beca tried to keep the fear from her voice.

More chuckles. "Now, now, now, Detective Mitchell. We _both_ know that's not true. I saw your reaction when you saw my picture collection on the wall behind you. You know who I am, well not _who _I am just yet. But you get the idea." Beca struggled in her bindings, unwilling to give up without a fight. "Feisty little bitch, aren't you?"

Familiarity flashed through Beca's mind. She felt something in her mind trigger but couldn't quite place what she should be remembering. Lack of sleep and stress was working their sorcery on her brain.

* * *

By the time Chloe had reviewed the information in each of the victims' folders, she had realized that not much more was there other than autopsy notes, witness interviews, and crime scene pictures. She did, however, learn of the needle marks and the batrachotoxin poison that was the only information not yet released to the public. But the data didn't seem enough to help her identify the killer. Despite being discouraged at her luck thus far, Chloe decided to take a look at the final folder labeled Arti.

As she tried to open the files, most were encrypted or came up in machine language that her computer couldn't interpret. Her frustration level hit an all-time high as she had thought this USB drive would give her clues to the murderer. Since Beca had gathered the same information about all the victims on one USB drive, in all likelihood, she thought these deaths were connected, too. A serial killer was certainly on the loose in Barden.

Right as Chloe was about to give up, she saw a text file in the Arti folder. She held her breath and double-clicked the icon. Relief coursed through her as readable text showed up on her screen. The header of the text file said: _For official use by the Federal Bureau of Investigations_. _Authorized personnel only._ These words alone caused the reporter to stop. "What was Beca doing with FBI files?" She wondered out loud to herself.

After considerable contemplation of the cautionary text, Chloe began to scroll through the file, trying to make sense of what she read. "To hell with the FBI warning. It probably wasn't real anyway," she muttered to herself.

There were segments of the file separated with rows of plus signs. The first section of text had a label: CONNECTION 1: LOCATION. Fifteen addresses were listed. As Chloe read through them, she noticed a pattern in the labeling. The first three were AJ_H, AJ_W, AJ_B.

She recognized the first two initials as to being that of victims. After looking up each of the addresses, she determined that H represented a victim's home address, W was work, and B was the crime scene or body maybe. Morbid. Distances were printed, in terms of walking meters, at the bottom of the address listings. The final line said SIGNIFICANT CONNECTION: 430M MINIMUM DISTANCE BETWEEN SUBJECTS. FOUR MIN BY FOOT.

Chloe presumed a connection was something Beca was tracking to find out who was committing these murders. What implications these held had yet to click in her brain. While this was in all likelihood an incomplete data file, the information must have made sense to Beca since she had taken the time to save confidential FBI files onto a USB drive.

Hair color was another commonality. That was obvious. There were several other connections, none of which made a lot of sense until she came to the bottom of the file. A third significant connection involved receipts. All but two of the victims had charged at least one coffee purchase at the Jacked Up coffee around the corner from Beca's precinct. As Chloe reviewed the information line by line, her head began to spin with suppositions and possibilities.

Her e-mail tone alerted her to an incoming message from her hospital contact. The reporter's acquaintance had sent her the intake records without the patient's name redacted. The reporter dumped the files into the same folder then launched one of the scans he sent.

She stared at the patient's name for what seemed like forever before she slammed her laptop closed. The heaviness and tightness in her stomach were debilitating. She ripped the USB drive out of the computer and threw it across the room as she stumbled to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

* * *

Beca struggled with keeping track of time in the basement. Sometimes she was allowed to keep her hood off, but it didn't seem to matter as the days and nights blended together. Her tummy told her she wasn't eating regularly, but she was grateful that her captor was feeding her enough to keep her conscious. And somewhat alert.

To keep her brain alert, she began to run through the data on the murders and killer she could recall. She knew the casualties were all between the ages of 23 and 26. Each was dark-haired and lived or worked close to each other. The one outlier was Emily Junk. She was a bit further out. Beca had just got the data from Junk's murder into the FBI program before she left the evening she was kidnapped. But after thinking, Beca realized that the coffee shop she was found near was twice as far from the other locations, and Benji and Emily's apartment was in the complete opposite direction.

Something important was right on the edge of her brain, but Beca couldn't put her finger on it. She also couldn't remember where her USB drive with the confidential Arti files was. The information contained on it wouldn't be news to the captor, but it would give her partner some additional clues if Aubrey came across it and dug into Beca's research.

* * *

The detective calculated she'd been held for at least three days, if not longer. Her kidnapper had stopped cuffing her hands that made Beca grateful but wary. While binding her upper arms to her chest was still restrictive, not having her hands incapacitated made her feel a bit better mentally. Because she knew her captor was the murderer they'd been tracking, she knew the person was quite intelligent.

Being dehydrated and weak from the lack of food meant that if her life came down to a fight or a footrace, Beca would be at a severe disadvantage. She didn't have much confidence in herself. Keeping her thoughts positive was becoming more difficult since she knew that the killer was probably growing bored of her, and time for escape was growing short.

When she heard the locks to the basement unlocking, Beca began running scenarios in her mind. She wasn't sure she could execute any of them, but her thoughts gave her hope. This time the light flipped on, and she could see the person who came walking down the stairs. Beca's heart soared as she saw her partner walk down the stairs. Never had Posen's fancy tailored suits and heels looked so good. Relief coursed through the tiny brunette's body as she knew everything was going to be okay.

Beca's words tumbled out of her mouth as she tried to warn her partner. "Careful Posen, my kidnapper is the Barden Butcher. Get me off this chair and out of here." She was frantic and wanted loose. She began rocking her chair back and forth despite the heavy bindings weighing her down. The basement door was wide open, and freedom was but a few chains away.

Her escape was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Both their eyes flashed up the stairs. Aubrey, who had yet to speak, held her finger to her mouth, indicating Beca should be quiet. She held up her hand for her partner to be still as she motioned that she was going to go back upstairs. The blonde detective pulled her gun from her holster and slowly crept back up the stairs.

* * *

The basement door was open enough for Beca to hear what was going on upstairs. When she heard Chloe's voice, her brain couldn't make the needed links to make sense of things. _What was Chloe doing at the killer's house?_ Her girlfriend showing up at the very place the serial killer could return at any moment promptly negated any relief Beca had felt by seeing her partner come to her rescue.

"I like that way you rearranged things, Aubrey. You've always had such an excellent eye for decorating."

"Why are you here, Chloe?" Aubrey sounded irritated.

"I need to talk to you about some things, Bree." Now Beca was utterly bewildered. If she heard correctly, Chloe thought she was at _Aubrey's_ house. Her mind started churning and mentally processing everything. Surely delirium had set in as what her brain was piecing together couldn't be further from her truth. The sooner Aubrey came back down to unlock her, the sooner she could go to the hospital. Then her mind would stop playing agonizing tricks.

She heard Chloe again. "Oh, I didn't know you had frogs, Bree. Why haven't I seen these tiny little fellers before? They are so precious and _colorful."_

Beca heard a slap then metal on glass clatter. "_Don't_ touch them, Chloe." Aubrey put the lid back on the amphibian cage.

"Woah. Okay, Aubrey. Why so jumpy?"

Aubrey quickly regained her relaxed demeanor and told Chloe to make herself at home. "I'll be right back. Then we can talk."

Beca was almost dizzy at the rate her mind was spinning, and then it all clicked. The additional research on the USB drive. The correlations she'd been trying to make. That niggling feeling on the back of her neck. Everything.

* * *

She had been so involved in her own head that she hadn't heard Aubrey come back down the stairs. The blonde tossed the voice modulator on the workbench, startling Beca back to the dilemma at hand. "Guess I don't need that anymore, Mitchell. Have you figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out, Aubrey?" Beca's voice was surprisingly calm.

"Oh, so it's Aubrey now." The blonde tsked as she shook her head and walked over to a cabinet. She unlocked it, pulled out a toolbox, and placed it on the workbench. She pulled out latex gloves, a syringe, a tiny vial of liquid, and some alcohol swabs. Beca's stomach plummeted.

"Come on, Aubrey. You have already bested me. You kidnapped me. Held me captive for who knows how many days. You even fooled me with the serial killer case. You've proven you are the better detective. We don't have to end like this." The captive detective's words spilled from her mouth in desperation.

"_We_ aren't ending like anything, Mitchell. _You _are. I should have known from the first day I realized who you were – that feisty little bitch addict twerked out on coke – I can't trust you." She used the alcohol swab to clean the top of one of the vials and opened one of the syringes.

Despite being confused at what Aubrey was saying, Beca knew she needed to keep Aubrey talking, distracted. Chloe was upstairs, and if she came down to the basement, she'd surely be hurt, too. Her brain was spinning how she could get out of this alive and save Chloe.

"Aubrey, errrr Posen. We've been good partners. We work well together. I respect you. I _trust you._ Aubrey, please." Beca was beyond panicked internally yet frozen, afraid even to struggle. She knew she couldn't get out of the restraints, but she wasn't above begging. She felt helpless as she watched Aubrey prepare the syringe with the batrachotoxin.

Aubrey turned to face Beca, hypodermic needle in hand. "You're such a fine detective, Mitchell. Have you worked it all out yet? I mean _all_ of it?" The blonde detective sneered as she approached her partner.

Beca caught some movement behind Aubrey and tried to hold in her shock when she saw who it was.

"If she hasn't, I have."

A surprised Aubrey spun around to see Chloe standing halfway down the stairs, taser in her hand. The redhead didn't hesitate to fire the barbs right into Aubrey's chest. Aubrey dropped the syringe as she fell to the ground writhing in pain.

Chloe kept the trigger down, keeping voltage coursing into her friend's body as the redhead retrieved Aubrey's service weapon from her holster. Not until the handgun was safely out of the blonde's reach did Chloe provide Aubrey some relief from the 50,000 volts coursing through her body. The blonde detective remained motionless on the ground, gasping for breath.

Chloe kept both weapons in hand and her eyes on Aubrey as she moved to Beca's side. "Are you okay, Becs? My god, I can't believe she kidnapped you."

"I can't believe you found me." Beca was crying. Beca had little reach with her free hands but clutched at Chloe's shirt and pulled her close. "Don't put that taser down. If she moves, shock her again."

Faint sirens were coming closer. "I called 9-1-1 when Aubrey came down here. I hoped I had put all the puzzle pieces together correctly and that she had you down here. Her address is tagged as APD in the emergency response system, but I made sure the dispatcher knew that Aubrey was holding you hostage."

"God, Chole. When you hear them come in, ditch the weapons. I don't want you to get shot by mistake. Make sure they know that needle and those vials other contain batrachotoxin. It's highly deadly, even in trace amounts."

"She killed those people, didn't she Beca? That's why she has those frogs." Beca didn't respond. "I found your USB drive, Beca. It was under my bed. It didn't take much more research to connect the dots."

"Thanks, Chloe. I guess you earned the exclusive on this story." Beca gave an ugly snort as she tried to dry her tears off on the reporter's shirt.

The redhead grinned through her tears and leaned over to kiss Beca's cheek while still keeping an eye on Aubrey, who hadn't moved since she knew the taser probably still had juice. When the sirens stopped in front of the house, Beca told Chloe to place the weapons on the workbench and back away as far as she could.


	6. Ironclad Proof

Despite what Chloe had told the 9-1-1 dispatcher, the responding officers were shocked to see one of their detectives disabled on the ground and the other bound with chains to a chair. The whole city had been searching for Detective Mitchell who had disappeared days ago, so the officers had no choice but to take Detective Posen into custody until everything could be sorted out at the precinct.

Before the responding officers even began to work on freeing Beca, she insisted they call the HazMat team to retrieve the toxin and secure the frogs. She did allow the fire department to cut her chains since the fire commander ensured her that they would work safely and wear their turn-out gear. Soon emergency personnel got her out safely and transported her to the hospital.

After a thorough examination, the doctors were satisfied that Beca was at most dehydrated and in need of food. They did insist she stay in the hospital overnight for observation. Only after a few bags of fluid had been pushed and she'd eaten a good meal was her captain allowed to question her.

"Detective Mitchell, a lot of people have been looking for you. Glad you're okay."

"No thanks to my partner." Snarky Beca was back. "Now, about that reassignment that I asked you for a few years ago."

He laughed before getting serious again. "You know I'm going to have to get your statement, right? It can wait until tomorrow, but no longer than that." Beca nodded her head. "Hey, can you tell me why that pain-in-my-ass crime reporter was at Posen's house? Supposedly, she is the one who called 9-1-1."

"You'll have to ask her, Cap."

"She's not talking, Mitchell. She said not without her attorney." Beca closed her eyes in frustration. "Or talking to you first. Something I should know?"

"Tomorrow, Cap. Tomorrow. And no offense, I think I need to talk to my union rep first, too."

He patted her leg through the covers on the hospital bed. "Whatever you need, Mitchell. I trust you." He turned to walk out the door.

"Hey, Cap?" Her boss turned to look at her. "Posen's the killer. You realize that, right?" He stared at her blankly.

"Ironclad proof?"

"Not quite yet, but once I get out of here and finish the investigation, it will be." She didn't think she had ever seen a more sad man as he turned back around and walked out.

* * *

Beca hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until someone flipped on the low lights behind her hospital bed. She jumped out of bed and held up her hands in a defensive position, her heart pounding out of her chest. "Woah, Mitchell. Shhh, it's okay. It's Dr. Conrad – Stacie. Hey, it's okay."

Another noise stirred behind Beca, and she swung around, hands still up. A small body with a mess of red hair sleepily mumbled, "Becs, you're awake." Chloe shuffled around the bed and put her arms around Beca and guided her back to bed. "You're alright. I promise. You're safe. Nobody is going to hurt you here. I'll let you and Dr. Conrad visit. I'll be back in a little bit. Do you want me to bring you something?"

Beca declined, and Chloe gave her a chaste kiss. After she left, Beca was aware enough to know what the situation looked like and gave her friend a sheepish smile. "Sorry about jumping up like I was about to attack you there, Doc. I'm kind of on edge, you know."

"S' kay, Mitchell. I'm just glad to see you." Stacie came over to sit on the edge of Beca's bed. "May I give you a hug?" She was cautious because of the reaction she'd gotten when she entered.

Beca pressed her lips together in a line but knew her friend wouldn't believe she was okay unless she got the reassurance. "I guess so, Conrad." This time, her friend held on a little longer than usual.

"I'm glad to see you. I would have been here earlier, but you know – work."

The friends talked a while, avoiding any serious conversation – including her abduction, the involvement of her partner, or how close she came to dying. When Chloe came back, she held out a styrofoam container. "Chicken noodle soup. I know you said you didn't want anything, but you need more nutrition." She went to the other side of Beca's bed and put her hand on her shoulder.

Stacie stood up. "I'm going to head out. I just needed to lay eyes on you myself to ease my mind. Glad to see you, Mitchell."

"You, too, Conrad. I'll let you know when they let me out."

Chloe bumped Beca over with her hip a little bit. "Scootch." She crawled into the bed next to Beca and snuggled up to her. "You were already asleep when I came in the first time, or I'd done this earlier."

"Chloe… we need to talk."

The reporter shushed her and began to feed her some soup. She then told her that they had plenty of time to talk after Beca got some real rest and built up her strength.

* * *

The next morning, Chloe told Beca that she'd found her USB drive. In all likelihood, it had fallen out of her pants the last time Beca had stayed that coincidently was when Aubrey had busted them sleeping together. Chloe told Beca how the most crucial clues came from the Hospital Records folder on the drive.

"The Hospital Records files were sent to me anonymously one day," Beca explained. "Since I working on the serial killer case, I dropped the files onto the drive, thinking I'd look into them when I had more time." Beca gave a heavy sigh as she realized she could have found the essential clues earlier. "I hadn't even done much more than take a cursory glance. Since most of the pertinent information had been redacted, I didn't want to go chasing after smoke."

"Before we get more into that, tell me about Arti." Chloe was trying to be nonchalant.

Beca's face paled. "Fuck. I forgot that was on there. Chloe, that's some serious stuff." She explained that Arti was what she had named the Artificial Intelligence program she was testing for the FBI.

"All I was doing was verifying connections it made and using it to do some of my legwork to let it verify mine. That whole work smarter, not harder thing. The program's not there yet, but when it's complete, it's undoubtedly going to make a difference in police work."

"Then why do you seem so upset, babe?"

"Because when the FBI finds out that I put a secure file dump on an external drive, I'm toast. I can kiss my career goodbye as fast as Posen did."

* * *

The next morning, the hospital double and triple checked Detective Mitchell before releasing her. She and Chloe went immediately to the precinct. Chloe met with the lawyer hired by her newspaper, and Beca met with her union representative. Then, the four met together as they readied to give statements to Atlanta P.D. Knowing that a grand jury subpoena and perhaps a trial would be coming, the lawyers made arrangements for the department statements to be given once and only once. The panel was comprised of another set of homicide detectives, Beca's captain, and Internal Affairs.

The panel called the reporter first and swore her in. Chloe's lawyer popped a USB drive into a computer and let Chloe take over with an explanation. "These files were hand-delivered to my house on or around the time of Jesse Swanson's death. With everything that was going on in Atlanta and the murders, I didn't think much about them." She opened each pertinent file, giving a summary of the documents for the panel. "As the murders tapered off, I finally took the time to research the redacted information."

Chloe explained how, using her contacts at the hospital and tidbits of non-redacted information on the files, she had discovered the identity of the little girl in the hospital records. She pulled up the second set of scanned documents. "That little girl was Aubrey Posen. I wasn't sure what to do with the information about Detective Posen. I felt it could lead to a big story, so I sat on it."

"Well, when Detective Mitchell went missing, I started contemplating why someone would send me these files. Someone send them to me for a reason, right? So, I found Detective Posen's home address and went over to talk to her. I had a story and was going to run with it."

The detective from Internal Affairs stopped her. "Why didn't you go to Detective Posen's precinct? Civilians visiting the homes of detectives is highly unusual."

"I had a funny feeling. What do you cops say? A gut feeling?" Chloe continued to explain how she showed up, and Detective Posen didn't seem shocked to see her which was more surprising. "When she left me alone in her living room to go down into her basement, I followed her."

The reporter took a deep breath before continuing. "I heard a familiar voice then saw Detective Mitchell shackled to that chair." Her voice was beginning to shake. Chloe explained that she saw Posen's taser on the counter so did the first thing she thought of. "I grabbed the weapon, crept down the stairs, and incapacitated Detective Posen."

* * *

"I've been deeply involved in investigating the serial killer case for weeks." Detective Mitchell paused and leaned over to whisper in her union representative's ear. He flipped through some papers in his folder and nodded to her. "You've all been cleared to hear about my software project with the FBI. A bit of background for you – the program uses artificial intelligence to make connections between an enormous amount of data and clues in an investigation." The detective conveniently left out her nickname for the program.

She went on to explain how she worked closely with the FBI to make tweaks to the program. When it's finished, the program would revolutionize police work. "Anyway, the system made a strong connection with credit card records and receipts. All victims made purchases at a Jacked Up coffee, most of them at the one right down the street from the precinct. I had just requested warrants for copies of the surveillance footage when the abduction occurred."

Detective Mitchell ensured the panel she had no idea that her partner was the killer until she showed her face in the basement where Beca was being held and began preparing a syringe of toxin to kill her. She explained what the reporter had done, how she'd saved her life. After extensive questioning, the panel released the detective.

* * *

Beca leaned up against the padded headboard in Chloe's bedroom, pulled the quilt around herself, and the redhead curled against her side. "I've missed you, Chlo." The two were quiet for a bit. "I don't think I ever told you thank you."

The reporter pushed herself up on one elbow. "For?"

"Everything. For this," Beca squeezed her arm around Chloe's shoulders, "for saving me from Posen and for not giving the panel my USB drive."

"What USB drive?" Chloe giggled. Beca's perplexed expression made her blush. "An anonymous source sent me some information. I just found out who the child in the records was."

"Hmmm, is that so?" Beca could feel Chloe nodding against her chest. "Well, thank you."

Chloe's hand ghosted across her girlfriend's chest. "If you really want to thank me, I can think of a few other ways…"

* * *

Despite being given as much time off she needed, Detective Mitchell convinced her captain to let her finish the serial killer investigation. "I know Posen was one of your best detectives, Cap. Hell, she was my partner. You want ironclad proof? I'm the most familiar with the evidence. Let me wrap things up and give you what you need to convince yourself 100%."

"I trust in your investigation, but you know you we have the rarest of unicorns here – a female serial killer, right?"

"Seriously?" Mitchell's voice volume rose. "Posen kidnapped me – held me in her basement that had pictures of the victims – and a mock-up of _my_ location board. She was somehow in possession of native poison dart frogs and was about to inject me like she did the other victims." Mitchell was trying not to be offended. "You can call her a unicorn all you want, hell, give her rainbow stripes and polka dots for all I care. She killed five people, at least, and almost killed me."

"The situation is overwhelming for me to comprehend. I value both of you, and I know the evidence is mind-boggling. We have to make sure that not only can we get an indictment, but the conviction needs to be a shoo-in. Let me know if you need another set of hands then, Mitchell. In fact, I'll send another set of uniforms over to help you start to go over the video footage."

With the connection solidified between the victims and Jacked Up coffee, the detective subpoenaed her former partner's credit card records. The judge had already signed her warrant for the security footage from the coffee shops before her partner abducted her. While she waited for Posen's credit card records, she began to review security footage from the coffee shops until she realized how long it would take her. She called the officers over, gave them dates and times from the victims' credit card information and put them to work scanning footage. When Posen's credit card records came in, she'd be able to tighten up the time frame.

Posen had handled most of the witness interviews. When Mitchell started going through the notebooks, she realized how much critical information was missing or incomplete. As Mitchell went through the interviews, she began to transcribe the interviews to load the information into Arti. The more the detective typed, the angrier she became that she hadn't realized how data was missing and had never been processed into Arti. Posen was sly, for sure, inputting just enough data to not trigger anything in the program or for Mitchell's powers of observation.

"Shit!" She threw the last notebook back into the evidence box.

One of the officers scanning security footage looked up at her. "She buried the interviews?"

"I don't think she even did most of them! At least the ones that matter. She was my partner. Fuck. I trusted her. A lot of good that did me!"

* * *

The first victim, Ashley Jones, was a popular barista at the Jacked Up coffee shop Posen went to every morning. Since she was found in her dorm room, there was no immediate connection to her place of work. Hindsight says that Jones' co-workers probably should have been interviewed. However, after reviewing the security footage of the probable morning of her death, Mitchell immediately went to the coffee shop to question the other barista from that morning.

The place was slow, and a blonde barista was stocking the shelves. Mitchell showed her barista a picture. "Recognize this person?"

"Yeah, that's Detective Posen. She used to come in every morning. Two large, one dark roast coffee black and one triple, soy, no foam latte. She hasn't been here in a while, though." The blonde barista continued to stock cups while she talked.

"Did you know Ashley Jones?" The barista stood up and put her forearms on the counter, allowing her hair to fall around her face. Her body shook with silent sobs. Mitchell put her hand on the woman's shoulder, unsure how to comfort her. "Jessica. That's your name, right?"

The woman nodded as she straightened up and wiped her eyes. She was trying to calm herself. "I knew Ashley. She was my best friend. We worked almost every shift together."

"I know this will be hard, but I need you to watch a video. Do you think you can do that?" Jessica nodded and walked towards one of the unoccupied tables at the back.

The detective showed her the clip of the security footage from the morning in question. Posen was at the counter, apparently placing her order before moving to the end of the service area to wait. Ashley brought her two cups of coffee. Posen took a sip, paused, then seemingly began to get upset. After a few moments, despite there being no sound on the video, her lividity about something was apparent. She shoved the coffee she had tested across the counter.

The cup fell off the counter and fell at Ashley's feet, splattering everywhere. Posen had jumped back with a horrified look on her face. Then the silent footage showed Ashley quickly preparing another drink before Posen took the carrier, turned, and walked out without another word.

"I remember that morning." Jessica was fighting her tears again. "I – I – I didn't think anything about it. Detective Posen's half of that order was the triple, soy, no foam latte. Every morning, she tasted hers before she left to make sure it was perfect. It seemed kind of anal to me, but I suppose everyone has the right to a correct order. I guess Ashley poured hers wrong that morning. Whole milk, not soy, maybe."

The barista stopped and began to process. "Why are you showing me this? Wait, is this why Detective Posen hasn't been in lately?" Her hands began to shake as realization washed over her.

"We aren't sure of anything, Jessica." Detective Mitchell stood up. "But please keep this to yourself. We are in the midst of an active investigation. You've been most helpful." She handed the barista her card. "Call me if you think of anything else about that morning." She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "A large dark roast to go?"

They returned to the counter, and Jessica poured her coffee. When she waved off the detective's money, Mitchell pushed the bill into the tip jar and turned to go back to her. Before exiting, she turned back to Jessica. "Was it just you and Ashley working that morning?"

Jessica thought for a moment. "No. I believe Emily was working that morning, too. But she doesn't work here anymore. She transferred to another store."

* * *

By the time Mitchell got back to the office, the new credit card data had arrived, so she fed the information into Arti. While she typed up her notes from interviewing Jessica, a connection alert beep emitted from her FBI program. Each of the victims had purchased a drink at the same Jacked Up coffee around the same time as Aubrey Posen except Ashley Jones and Emily Junk.

After her interview at the coffee shop, Mitchell now knew what had happened with Ashley the morning she died. And that Emily had been there that day, too, made Mitchell believe that was her connection. She poured over all the evidence she had and only needed a few more things before she handed the case over to her captain and the district attorney's office.


	7. Making of a Serial Killer

_**A/N: This is going to be the last chapter, but there will be a short epilogue. I wasn't sure if this one was going to be two or not, but I couldn't find a solid chapter break. I hope this ties all the loose ends together.**_

_**Warning: brief depictions of child abuse **_

* * *

Chloe pulled her car into the lot and shut off the engine. Beca had a death grip on her hand and was almost hyperventilating. "Beca? You don't have to do this, you know. One of your colleagues can interview her."

The brunette shook her head. "No. It has to be me. I know her better than anyone; sometimes, I think better than she knows herself. Posen's a narcissist psychopath. She's going to want to brag to me. All I need her to do is fill in a few gaps." She began to get out of the car. "And maybe thins my chance at closure as well."

The reporter put her hand on her girlfriend's arm. "I'll be out here waiting, Beca."

The brunette ducked her head back into the car and leaned across. She pressed her lips against Chloe's forehead. "Thanks, Chloe. Be thinking about where you want to go after I get back. I have a feeling I'm going to need a drink or five after this." She stood up, closed the car door, and pulled down her suit jacket. She motioned to the other pair of detectives who were accompanying her. The only way her boss would let Mitchell interview Posen in person was if she had back-up detectives.

"Before we go in, let's talk about guidelines." She explained the psychiatrist's initial diagnosis to the other detectives and what that meant. "What Posen wants more out of today is to feel like she's in control again. She wants attention, so don't give it to her."

"Have you figured out her motive for the murders and the kidnapping?" One of the other detectives had reviewed the case notes but hadn't yet found one.

"Is there any rationale?" Beca chortled. "Don't try to figure her out. She has no conscious and cannot feel empathy for her victims. Therein lies the madness. Just keep your mouth shut and observe. Come on; let's go."

* * *

Detective Mitchell stopped at the one-way mirror of the interrogation room where the guards were setting up a video camera to record the interview. She watched as the ex-detective was led in with her legs shackled close together. She had chains around her waist and cuffs which had a connecting metal tether that threaded through a large eyelet rivet on the metal table.

"Is all this necessary, Warden? I realize she is accused of multiple murders and kidnapped me, but she's also my former partner. My interview might go a bit better if I can show some respect for the prisoner."

"The irons are _absolutely_ necessary, detective. Right before we brought her in, a guard offered her a cup of coffee which is quite the commodity around here except at breakfast. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she threw a tantrum and went ballistic" The warden rolled his eyes. "Then she hurled the coffee at the guard. Luckily she was already cuffed in front, and he was able to sidestep the cup and liquid. So, yes, it's necessary. We will not remove those restraints."

* * *

Mitchell and the other detectives stepped into the interview room. Beca took a seat across to her former partner while the other two detectives stood behind her against the wall.

"Introduce me to your friends, Detective Mitchell." Posen daintily crossed her legs as best she could since she was shackled. Beca was in awe that even in prison orange, the blonde was still intimidating with her female allure and presence.

Beca crossed her arms. "They all have name tags." Her bland facial expression showed she had no intention of answering any questions. She needed to take charge of this interview to make sure she maintained the upper hand.

The blonde prisoner tried to mimic her former partner's stance, but the cuffs hooked through the metal eyelets on the table kept her from moving far. She tsked before saying, "that's not very gracious, Detective Mitchell. After all that we've gone through together."

The brunette sat silent, not giving in to Posen's attempt to rile her up. She opened her file folder and pulled out pictures of the victims, laying them down in the order of their deaths – first their drivers' license pictures followed by their autopsy pictures. "We took the same seminars on serial killers in the academy. So – victim profile – young and brunette. The close locations were probably out of convenience. Cause of death. That's where the similarities end. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty, Posen."

She laid down the morgue pictures beneath the driver's license photos. Mitchell finally flipped open her notebook and clicked out the point on her pen and used it to tap the first photo. "The first victim, Ashley Jones. She was your barista probably every morning since you became a detective. I saw the footage of your disagreement with her that morning, Posen. She got your order wrong?"

The prisoner broke out into a broad smile. When she began to laugh, all the detectives were confused. Posen began to slowly clap as much as she could with her restrictions, the cuff chains rattling against each other and in the table hook. After a few moments, she spoke. "Excellent, Mitchell. But you are _wrong_." Her smile turned devious, evil. "Don't look so confused. I'm as good of a detective as you, if not better, which gave me an advantage here."

"Bumper Allen was the first victim, not Jones. God, he was obnoxious." Mitchell knew that if she remained quiet, Posen would keep talking. The killer wanted, no _needed_, to have her story heard. Mitchell motioned for one of the other detectives to take notes. Posen would want her complete attention.

"Allen died a few days before Jones. Remember the morning I came in and had to change clothes immediately? That disgusting excuse for a human was in front of me in line at Jacked Up. I had my head down as I walked out. For some ignorant reason, he had stopped in the middle of the store then quickly turned around, walking right into me. His coffee cup hit my chest and spilled all over my pants. Brought back bad memories."

The blonde slammed her fist down and threw herself back in the chair, somehow managing to cross her arms. "The repulsive man didn't even apologize." She somehow stretched over and switched the pictures to the correct order showing Allen first and Jones second.

Remembering what Chloe had learned from the files she had researched, Mitchell knew the memories Posen was talking about were probably about being burned at a young age. Slowly the beginning of her former partner's psychosis and the trigger was taking shape for her. The detective was lost in her thoughts, thinking about the emotional turmoil her former partner must have gone through growing up.

"Mitchell, I asked you a question." The detective startled back to attention. "Did you even bother to research those _anonymous_ hospital records you received?"

Remembering that Chloe had testified that she had received the records, Mitchell sidestepped the question. "So, you tracked down Bumper Allen and killed him – because he spilled coffee on your lavish clothes." Mitchell rolled her eyes to annoy Posen. "Are you telling me Dr. Conrad miscalculated the date of death for our two victims?"

Aubrey smugly explained how she stored Bumper's body in the refrigerated unit of a defunct restaurant. For the next few hours, she talked about each of her victims and what they had done to offend her enough to die. Jones and Junk had both been working the day her order had been messed up. When she tried to track Emily down and learned she was working at another store, finding her took a little longer.

The training the former detective had allowed for her mind to be razor-sharp. She remembered every detail of every death. Mitchell knew most of the details her ex-partner was spouting out, but Posen was filling in some of the gaps she needed. Eventually, Mitchell needed to take a break and step outside with her colleagues.

* * *

"Why is she telling you all of this?" One of the other detectives couldn't keep from asking Mitchell the question everyone in the room was thinking.

Mitchell drained her water before answering. "I believe she feels this is the best part of getting caught, getting to relive every detail to someone she thinks will appreciate her _brilliant_ mind." The detective frowned. "If this goes to court and victim family members and friends are at the trial, she's going to eat their pain like a five-star meal."

After clearing her mind and regrouping her thoughts, Mitchell herded her colleagues back in the interview room. Posen was sitting in the same position as when they left like she hadn't moved a muscle. When her ex-partner sat down across from her, she sneered. "Mitchell, I asked you a question earlier. Don't think I didn't realize you sidestepped the question. Let's go back to the hospital records."

Mitchell still ignored the question but made a note to have the prison staff examine their prisoner for scarring on her upper thighs. Despite being so long ago, such severe burns would still have left significant disfigurement. Since Posen had brought up the hospital records twice, she must have legitimately wanted to make sure Mitchell made that connection. But that didn't mean she was going to give Posen the satisfaction of knowing that she, well, Chloe, had solved that mystery.

"Okay, Posen, change of direction. Why kidnap me? You would have killed me had Chloe not figured out you were the killer. Does it irk you that she saved me?"

The prisoner clenched her cuffed wrists, tightening her forearm muscles and gritting her teeth. "She. Was. My. Best. Friend. Chloe betrayed me. She betrayed me for _you._"

"Yeah, but she was rescuing me. I guess her loyalty to me is greater than to you." Mitchell couldn't resist antagonizing her former partner.

Posen lurched to her feet, as much as her chains would allow her and leaned over the table towards Mitchell. "You," she spat. "You are nothing more than a piece of shit traitor. You tried to take Chloe from me. I never knew what she saw in you – you're short, snarky, and your hair is the color of excrement, just like every person who got a needle in their neck." Posen was gripping and releasing her fists angrily. "I was so close to sinking that hypodermic in your neck. And you would have deserved your quick death."

Mitchell began to laugh, which made her ex-partner infuriated. "Let me get this straight. You kidnapped me and were going to kill me because I started dating Chloe and because I have brown hair? You are more fucked up than I thought." She stood up and looked at the guard. "I think we're done here."

She and her colleagues turned to leave. Posen was struggling against her cuffs and chains as she continued to rant. "No. You can't leave. I'm not through talking. Come back, Mitchell. NOW!" Even though the steel door and down the hall of the prison, Mitchell could hear Posen's angry shouts.

* * *

Beca sank into the seat of Chloe's car and threw her head back on the headrest. "You okay?" Chloe was concerned with the detective's frame of mind. She became anxious when her girlfriend began to laugh. "Beca?"

"Nothing, Chloe." She looked over and grinned for the first time since the day Chloe fired the taser into Posen's chest.

"What?!" Chloe reached over to poke her finger in Beca's side, trying to lighten the situation.

"Your friend – Posen? She's batshit crazy."

"My friend? She's your partner, Beca. I think partner trumps friend. You can have her."

"I don't want her." Beca started shaking her head as she leaned over and kissed Chloe. "Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

When Mitchell got back to the precinct, she took a copy of the other detective's notes and began to enter them into the Arti. Having validation of Aubrey's reasons, however perverse they might be, brought her some peace of mind.

She kicked back in her chair and thought about the entire interview. Her sixth sense began to tingle when she thought about Aubrey mentioning the hospital records twice. Surely there wasn't more to that other than her sending them, teasing her partner to try to catch her. The same reason she helped Dr. Conrad find the injection marks on the first two victims. She was afraid her brilliance wouldn't be discovered if clues were overlooked. Indeed without that evidence, the connection might not ever have been made.

Beca pulled up the hospital records and combed through them again. She felt as if she was missing something. The one avenue she nor Chloe had examined was the therapy records from long ago. She wasn't sure if she could get a search warrant for the files, but it was worth a try.

* * *

Posen curled up on her jail cot, pulling the thin, wool blanket over her. The interview with Mitchell had worked her up more than she should have let it. She should have never lost control. Then again, in the last few months, she had been entirely out of control. As time passed between each of her victims, the more enraged she would get, and the easier it got to kill.

Before she'd gone rogue, Posen had gone to visit her mother for the first time since she graduated from the academy. She wasn't sure of her purpose behind the visit, but she went. As soon as Aubrey arrived, her mother began harping on her – immediately reminding the detective why so much time had passed since she'd had any interaction with her mother.

"You were always such a troubled child," Mrs. Posen spat at her daughter. "Getting into things, ignoring me, and being bad in general. I'm surprised you are a patrol officer."

"A detective, mother. I told you – I'm a detective now."

Aubrey couldn't remember what happened after she reminded her mother of her promotion. She was sure some fight ensued because the next thing she remembered, she was back at her house with specks of blood on her shoes.

Posen considered herself quite an intelligent woman but never considered what the recent months of stress and events would do to her psyche. Many long-forgotten dreams were starting to surface, some in short flashes and others in full-blown technicolor.

* * *

_Flashback Dream – 1993_

The young child with long blonde hair curling around her shoulders was curious about what her mom had on the kitchen counter. She was too short to see but knew she could climb up there. She'd done it before. She opened the lower cabinet and put her foot on one of the shelves. She couldn't quite pull herself up and grabbed the closest thing she could reach – a cord hanging out of the wall.

The electrical cord was attached to her mother's coffee pot that came sliding off the counter, dumping steaming hot liquid over the little girl's legs. She was only wearing her pajama top and undies, and the bare skin on her entire upper legs got the full brunt of the scalding coffee. The child immediately toppled to the ground and began to shriek at the top of her lungs.

Not knowing what was happening, the mother came racing into the kitchen. When she saw what had happened, she angrily grabbed the girl by the arm, yanked her up, and gave her three swift swats on the bottom, causing the child to cry even more. "Aubrey Posen!" she shouted. "What are you doing? Did you try to crawl onto the counter again? And why aren't you dressed?" A terrified Aubrey was still blubbering because of the pain in her legs. "Clean this mess up this instant, Aubrey."

"Mama, I can't," the child wailed. "It hurts. My legs, they hurt!" Blisters were already starting to form on the child's legs. She'd been badly burned.

"Aubrey Posen. Stop crying this instant. What would your father say? He'd be so disappointed." The child's mother found some pajama bottoms and pulled them onto her child without regard for the child's piercing cries. "Hush."

When the blisters continued to grow, and her daughter couldn't seem to stop crying, Aubrey's mother had no choice but to take her to the emergency room on the military base where the nurses immediately sedated Aubrey because of her pain level. The only way to treat such massive burns was to debride them – remove the dead tissue so new tissue could grow. The process was excruciating, so Aubrey was taken to surgery.

After the procedure, she was admitted into a specialized burn unit to receive treatment from a team specializing in pediatric burns. Once the burn unit released her, Aubrey continued to see the therapist to help her overcome any lingering mental issues with the incident. After a month or so of weekly visits, Aubrey's mom decided her child had enough therapy and pulled her from the program.

_End Dream Flashback_

* * *

Because of privacy laws, the hospital would not release additional therapy records. The only information Detective Mitchell had in regards to Posen's therapy was what was in the files her former partner herself had provided. Posen had sent the data so she'd had given up any expectation of confidentiality. Since none of that information had been redacted, Mitchell had no issues – physically or legally – with going through the records.

Therapy had been going well for the little girl and helped the child make strides in recovering mentally and emotionally. From what Mitchell could tell, Aubrey's mother had stopped therapy for her daughter cold-turkey with no rhyme or reason. She quit showing up for appointments and didn't answer calls.

Posen never spoke of her parents, and Mitchell never asked any questions, assuming they were both deceased. A quick department of motor vehicles check showed an active driver's license for the elder Posen with an address about a ten-minute drive from the station.

That niggling feel on the back of her neck persisted, so Mitchell grabbed the two detectives who were assisting, and they drove to interview the mother. During the drive, Mitchell explained she had more than enough for a solid conviction, but she felt like not talking to the mother would be leaving a stone unturned. When they arrived at the non-descript tiny house, a car was in the driveway and lights on in the house. Mitchell approached the front door to knock while the other two detectives stood behind her.

When Mrs. Posen didn't answer, the other set of detectives went around the house in different directions to check the doors and windows. When one got to the back door and peered into the kitchen, he saw a motionless prone figure lying on the floor. "BODY," he shouted, which brought the other two quickly to the back. Mitchell tried the back door to find it locked. She used the butt of her gun to break out a pane of glass.

When the distinct smell of putrified flesh came pouring out of the house, Mitchell placed her nose and mouth in the crook of her shoulder and backed away. "No way in hell we are going in there. Call the medical examiner and crime scene investigation. I'm calling the Captain."

* * *

When Mitchell's captain arrived on scene, Mitchell was sitting on the front porch, visibly shaken. He officially turned the death investigation over to the other pair of detectives. "I don't care what you say, Mitchell; you aren't winning this argument. You have enough on your plate. And, I don't want to see you in the office for two days, minimum."

While she never went inside Mrs. Posen's house, the detective refused to leave the scene until the medical examiner van loaded the body for transport back to the morgue. The detective caught a ride with Dr. Conrad. "She was shot, wasn't she, Stacie? I could see that much from the back door."

The M.E. looked at her friend. "I'll know more about the cause of death when we get back." When Beca gave her a pointed look, she continued, "but yes, it does appear that she was shot. She's been deceased for several months."

Beca turned and stared out the window. "What could have I done, Conrad? Tell me. Posen was my partner. I should have seen this – figured this all out sooner."

"Mitchell, there's not a damned thing you could have done. You can't fight evil."

The detective was quiet on the way back to the department/morgue. When she pulled out her phone, several texts from Chloe remained unanswered. Each message seemed increasingly panicked. Beca wasn't quite sure why she hadn't texted Chloe back. What she did know was that she was mentally and physically exhausted. Most of all, she wanted to go home, pull the covers over her head, and sleep.

* * *

Since her boss had restricted her from going to work, Beca decided to do just that. She texted Chloe that she was okay but needed to be alone – that she was going home to sleep. The detective knew if she invited Chloe over, she'd have to explain what she saw at Mrs. Posen's house and frankly Mitchell didn't have the energy to do that. After a good night's rest, the detective might be better off to deal with the aftermath of the investigation into Mrs. Posen's death. When crawled into bed, she fell fast asleep not too much later.

At one point in the night, Beca woke up to feel the redhead's warm body snuggled in behind her. She tried to turn over, but the reporter's arm was weighing heavy on her side. "Chloe," she murmured. "Babe, I need to go to the bathroom. Can you move your arm?"

She tried to push her girlfriend backward or push herself forward to get free. She hated to wake Chloe, but she really needed to go to the bathroom. Finally, she reached over and flipped on the light. Now that she could see, she put her hands on Chloe's side and gently rolled her over. Her girlfriend flopped over, lifeless eyes wide open with a syringe dangling out of her neck.

Beca shouted as she shoved the deceased body off the bed and leaped from beneath the covers. As she raced to the door, she stumbled over another body and fell to the ground. This time Chloe had been shot in the chest. The detective tried to get up but kept slipping and sliding in the blood.

Beca startled awake, sitting upright in bed and dripping in sweat. Her breathing was heavy, much like she'd just finished a sprint. She quickly looked around the room to find herself alone and safe in her own bed. There were no bodies. Aubrey was in jail, and Chloe was probably safe in her home. Despite her mind telling her she nor Chloe was in any danger, Beca's heart was pounding out of her chest as she gasped for air. The detective struggled to her feet and dragged herself to the bedroom to splash water on her face.

She started her a cup of coffee in her Keurig. After only a sip, she gagged and immediately dumped it down the sink. The detective took all the coffee pods in the pantry and violently threw them towards the garbage, vowing never to drink another drop of coffee again. Instead, she made a cup of herbal tea and took a seat on her couch, feet up on the ottoman.

* * *

The next morning, Chloe eased the door to Beca's place open and softly shut it, not wanting to wake her girlfriend. She set the take-out coffee cups on the kitchen bar and sneaked into the bedroom. When Beca wasn't there, she returned to the front room and found Beca curled up in a tight ball on the couch, shivering. The reporter tip-toed to the closet and got out a fuzzy blanket to lay across Beca to keep her from being cold.

The instant the covering touched the detective's body, the brunette was up on her feet, gun in hand. "Fuck, Chloe. I almost shot you. What are you doing here?" Beca guiltily cleared her service weapon and locked it away in a drawer.

"I was worried about you. I've been worried for a while now. Sit back down." Chloe covered her girlfriend's shoulders with the blanket, then retrieved the coffee from the kitchen. "Here."

Beca's eyes grew wide as she didn't know what to do. The cups even were emblazoned with the trademark slogan that started this all. _Jacked Up Coffee_. Her hands shook as she took the cup. She took a few sips then a good swallow before she gagged. Suddenly she raced to the bathroom and began emptying what little was in her stomach.

The redhead was horrified and quickly went to dump the two coffees into the sink. She looked around and saw the trashcan full of Keurig pods and the ones which were scattered around the floor when Beca threw them.

Once she cleaned up, making sure to erase all evidence of coffee, Chloe went to check on Beca, who was sitting against the wall in the bathroom, weeping. "Becs? Are you okay?" She slid down the wall next to Beca and pulled the detective into her. "I am so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"S-ss-she shot her." Beca blubbered, the weight of everything finally crashing down.

"She shot who, Beca?" Apparently, the media hadn't gotten wind of the Barden Butcher's most recent victim. "What happened?"

"P-p-Posen," she stuttered. "She shot her mother."

* * *

Chloe wouldn't leave Beca's side for the entire day. Chloe messaged Stacie, who brought over some prescription sedatives. By the time the doctor got there, Chloe had a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup ready. Stacie wouldn't leave until her friend had eaten enough to keep from getting sick but had to force Beca to take the sedatives.

Chloe brought her iPad to stay close to Beca whenever she was in bed. Despite the tranquilizers, Beca woke up to another nightmare, screaming and calling out to Chloe. The screams terrified Chloe who could only imagine what Beca was going through on the inside.

Following Stacie's orders, Chloe kept a relatively high dose of medication in Beca's system so she could eventually get some sleep for a day or two and settle her nerves. When Beca realized she hadn't been to work in three days, she was livid. "Captain only made me take two days off. Who are you to decide when I do and don't go to work?"

Despite Beca's words hurting, Chloe knew the detective was experiencing a high level of anxiety and trauma. She came out of the bathroom to find Beca fully dressed and frantically searching the house. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Nowhere if you don't tell me where you hid my keys," Beca responded gruffly. "I need to go to work."

Chloe knew that to argue with Beca was futile and that her girlfriend was in no shape to drive. She relented and drove the detective to the station. Before leaving, the reporter went down to the morgue to make sure Stacie knew Beca was there.

* * *

Detective Mitchell was trying to make sense of all the work she'd previously done on the serial killer case. Her brain was incredibly foggy, but she was determined to finish her work. The other detectives were putting the final touches on their report on Mrs. Posen's death, and Mitchell had to find a slot for that as well since they'd be presenting all the cases at once.

When one of the other detectives saw her, he came to greet her and put down a cup of the office sludge coffee on her desk. "Here you go, Mitchell. We cop types always work better with caffeine in our veins."

A horrified look crossed her face as she ran out of the office and down all of the stairs to the morgue and huddled in the corner in Dr. Conrad's office. Stacie called Chloe to come back and pick Beca up.

Detective Mitchell made it back to the office early the next day, arriving before anyone else on the floor and finished typing up her "ironclad proof" on the Barden Butcher case. Nobody had ever come up with a better name, and all serial killers had to have a name, right?

She made it until the other detectives started trickling in, and someone made a particular strong-smelling batch of coffee. Beca quickly regretted the bagel she had for breakfast and called Chloe to come to pick her up.

* * *

"Babe, you can't keep coming home because someone makes coffee at the office. I'm sorry. You just can't." The smell of coffee made her puke, and Beca still had nightmares every night. "You need to get some help." The detective gave her a sullen look, and Chloe knew she wasn't going to agree.

So the reporter called in the big guns and messaged Stacie. Stacie went and talked to the captain, who spoke to the department therapist. Together with Detective Mitchell, they came up with a solid compromise. She could finish the investigative paperwork on the serial killer cases in a private office on the fourth floor. Few people went up there and even fewer drank coffee. She'd attend intense therapy sessions daily. Once the case was resolved, Mitchell would take at least four weeks off – longer if her therapist so deemed necessary.

* * *

This arrangement worked well for the detective. She was able to operate unimpeded. Talking with the professional helped her tolerate the smell of coffee a bit. More importantly, her brain was able to loosen up at night so she could get a good night's sleep without waking her with terrors. Getting sleep allowed Mitchell to put the puzzle pieces together more effectively.

The other detectives attached their investigation on Mrs. Posen's death to hers. The cause of death for Aubrey's mother was a gunshot, and the CSI team had recovered a slug that matched her daughter's service weapon. The prison hospital verified that Posen had faint scarring on her upper thighs in the same pattern as the young girl. This confirmed the association between the "anonymous" records sent to Mitchell which then ended up in Chloe's hands.

Additional investigation into the poisonous dart frogs, which were the source of the batrachotoxin, led to the discovery that a handful of specimens native to South America used in research into the toxin had disappeared several months ago from a research facility in Tampa. Mitchell followed multiple bank transfers from to trace funds from Posen's hands to the persons probably responsible for that theft. Because Posen was in charge of researching the toxin, none of this had ever crossed Mitchell's radar or made it into Arti.

Posen's career from her time as a beat officer to the gang task force to a detective was proof that she'd been reasonably stable mentally until an extreme event allegedly triggered her. After the prison interview, Mitchell made sure to carefully review the security footage of the morning Posen had her run-in with Bumper Allen, who was now known as the first victim, not the second.

He had, in fact, stopped right in her way and spilled coffee all over her. When Bumper Allen's coffee poured down Posen's legs, the look on her face was pure rage. Her entire demeanor exuded fury. Mitchell felt that was the defining moment in Posen's life, her trigger into her murder spree.

Everything went back to the horrible accident when she was a child. The argument with her mother and resulting shooting laid the foundation for her crime spree. And since Mrs. Posen having brown hair, Mitchell felt her former detective was killing her mother over and over again.

Detective Mitchell went back through every scrap of evidence. She crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's to make sure there were no holes in the investigation. None. Ironclad proof. After turning her files over to the proper authorities, Detective Mitchell sat in the courtroom as the judge arraigned Aubrey Posen for six murders and kidnapping of a police officer.

Because of her mental situation, the judge declared Posen mentally unfit to stand trial until the time she was back on her medication and more stable. Truth be told, that day would probably never come. With the amassed evidence, Beca's former partner would spend the rest of her life locked up.

* * *

_**I'd love to hear your thoughts on how things played out.**_

_**I promise the epilogue will be much more light-hearted. Thanks for sticking with me!**_


	8. Eplilogue

Detective Mitchell and the other two detectives who were assisting with the full investigation had managed to keep control over most of the information around Posen's crimes. True to her word, Mitchell gave Chloe unrestricted exclusive access to the sealed court records. The detective gave one and only one interview, to Chloe Beale – of course. The meeting occurred with the support of Mitchell's therapist since Chloe would never do anything to jeopardize her girlfriend's emotional well-being. After the interview, Chloe worked tirelessly on the article about the Barden butcher but never brought the incidents up when she and Beca were together.

With continued therapy, Detective Mitchell slowly began to overcome some of her deep-seated issues brought on from her kidnapping and discovering her trusted partner was a brutal murderer. Her aversion to coffee had eased to where she could be around the caffeinated liquid and even drink it on occasion as long as it didn't come from the offending nearby coffee shop. She had shifted more to tea to give her something to drink out of habit.

The detective was never assigned another partner and stayed in the precinct more often helping crunch data and investigate safely behind a computer screen. While office work didn't exactly suit her, this allowed her to remain elbows deep in local investigations. She also continued to work closely with the FBI as they continued to fine-tune their artificial intelligence program which was officially re-named ARTI in honor of the detective. Because of her many suggested tweaks, the program was able to identify when vital information was missing as well as to use to fill in the investigative gaps.

* * *

**_Eight Months Later_**

"You look fine, babe. Gorgeous." Beca tried not to laugh at her fiancé, who was on her third outfit. Chloe did look amazing. She had decided on a white shirt tucked into a skirt that hit her about mid-thigh. Her broad collar and cuffs of her shirt had black stripes. She'd straightened her hair where it fell right below her shoulders.

Beca picked out a set of earrings from the jewelry box on the dresser and motioned to Chloe.

"Come here." She put her arms around the back of redhead and put the earrings in her ears. "You are going to do great."

The redhead released her breath with a big huff. "What if I don't win, babe?"

"You will, Chloe, you will."

* * *

Chloe was sitting in the audience, nervously squeezing her fiance's hand, waiting for the announcement.

"For a distinguished example of investigative reporting, using any journalistic tool, the Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting, and $15,000 prize goes to … Chloe Beale for her work on the Barden Butcher."

Chloe was still dabbing her eyes as she climbed the steps to the microphone. "Wow. I didn't expect this. What an honor." She looked over the audience. "I didn't want to publish a story about a series of events which might draw questions about what really happened. I aimed to publish a story that would cause people to stop and consider what _could_ have happened."

"What would have happened had Aubrey Posen not been so narcissistic and pointed out the results of the tool she used to kill her victims to the medical examiner? How would have the story changed had she not dropped a bombshell of hospital records in my lap or if I had chosen to ignore the files she sent?"

Chloe traced the images etched into the brass colored medallion embedded into the podium Benjamin Franklin on the left and a husky, bare-chested printer at work, his shirt draped across the end of a press on the right. Touching the long-standing symbol of the Pulitzer calmed her.

"Two key facts did not make it into my story that you may not know. I would be remiss if I did not tell you about them to complete this story. Aubrey Posen was my best friend. I was always harping on her to give me the edge on stories, yet she seldom did. She was a respectful detective and a damned good friend. Had she not laid out clues which were eventually incredibly easy to follow, I would have never believed she was a murderer."

"You know that my relationship with her partner, Beca Mitchell, is one of the reasons why the killer kidnapped Beca." She looked into the audience and smiled at the brunette. "What you may not know is that that detective is now my fiancé. And, I'll never care what color her hair is or what rank she holds, I will always support her and love her."

"When I made it to Detective Mitchell in the basement as the killer was lying incapacitated on the floor, Beca promised me an exclusive on the story. I suppose you can tell that by my standing here that I held her to her word. I want to thank my employer, the Barden Beacon newspaper, for allowing me the time to work on this project. Most of all, I'd like to acknowledge the Pulitzer committee for bestowing this incredible honor to me for my writing. Thank you."

* * *

Several months earlier, when Chloe learned that she'd of her Pulitzer nomination, Beca took her out for a celebratory dinner. The reporter had been so surprised when, by the end of the night, the Pulitzer nomination wasn't the only thing they were celebrating. As they finished their main course, Beca became nervous and quite agitated. Chloe had become accustomed to her girlfriend's precarious emotional state of mind. The redhead scooted her chair closer and made sure her knee was touching Beca's in an attempt to comfort her with physical proximity.

"Chloe," Beca started. "I am so proud of you and what you've done with this article." She reached over and grasped the redhead's hand. "Whether or not the Pulitzer sees your brilliance doesn't matter. I am thankful for what you did humanizing this ordeal and making sure the mortal aspects were maintained."

"I, ummm, owe you my life, Chloe Beale, in more ways than one. Not just in that split second before my death but ever since. Without your presence beside my side – your stability – your understanding – I would not be where I am today in my recovery. One thing I can always be sure of is your existence in my life."

Chloe leaned over the corner of the table and touched Beca's face. "I love you, Beca Mitchell. There is no place I'd rather be than right by your side."

Yet when Beca scooted her chair back and dropped to one knee, Chloe was in shock. "Then can we make that official? Chloe Beale, would you do the honor of becoming my wife?"

When Chloe agreed, Beca knew that she could make her way through any obstacle – as long as she had Chloe by her side.

* * *

As time progressed, the detective found she did not get the same satisfaction working for the Atlanta PD in this capacity but couldn't get back on the streets because sometimes she still had problems with certain violent crimes. She was beginning to doubt her usefulness to the division. So when the FBI offered her a position in their Atlanta field office, she jumped on it.

After her Pulitzer prize, the Barden Beacon newspaper was doing all it could to keep Chloe on their payroll as she was being wooed by several larger organizations – both print and online.

Not too long after Beca became officially employed by the FBI, her supervisor came to her with something he thought she might be interested in being involved with. "The National Data Exchange or N-DEx system is a national information-sharing system that enables multiple agencies to have access to local, state, tribal, and federal records. It contains incident, arrest, and booking reports; pretrial investigations; supervised released reports; calls for service; photos; and field contact/identification records. Right now, N-Dex is unclassified, and all criminal justice agencies have access."

"Sounds like you guys have a good system going," Beca admitted, wary of what might be coming next. "Where do I fit in?"

"We want to interface N-DEx with Arti. If Arti had access to an abundance of records, it could have the potential to identify similar crimes, recognize new patterns, and locate suspects more quickly. And you've been tagged to lead the project."

"You're right; that does sound right up my alley." Beca sat back in her chair. "What's the catch? There's always one."

"It's errrrr in Quantico." Her supervisor held his breath knowing that Beca's entire life was here, including her soon-to-be-wife who just won a Pulitzer award. He explained that if she were interested, the government would pay for all moving expenses as well as a six-month housing stipend to give her time to locate a suitable place to live. "Virginia is a beautiful place to live. And the Quantico complex is only forty minutes from D.C."

"Let me talk to Chloe and see how she feels about this. I'll let you know Monday."

"One more thing, Mitchell. If you take this position, you'll move from a GS11 grade to a GS12, and the Quantico area has a 9% higher locality payment than Atlanta." He grinned, knowing she'd talk to her fiancée armed with the benefits _and_ the numbers.

* * *

The more Beca considered the new project, the more excited she got. Maybe getting out of Atlanta is what she needed to complete her recovery. She did have Chloe to consider and, ultimately, knew the decision had to be mutual between both of them. But she wasn't above a small bit of innocent manipulation.

"Awwww, Becs, you even got the maître de to seat us at the same table where you proposed." Chloe giggled as she mocked wiped a tear from her eye. "You must want something big." Beca blushed and dipped her head down to avoid eye contact with her fiancé. "Ahhh, I'm right!"

Luckily the server saved Beca from answering Chloe, and she was able to order wine instead. "Lots of memories in Atlanta, huh, Chlo?" Beca finally looked at the redhead who was studying the menu. "Have you decided what to order?"

"No, I'm distracted since I know you've brought me here to butter me up for something." The lilt in her voice let Beca know she was teasing.

"I'll just have to order for both of us, then." Beca grinned at Chloe, loving how easy natured the reporter was.

After the server returned with their wine and took their order, both Chloe and Beca started at the same time. "I …"

Beca smirked. "Go ahead."

"It's okay, you go," Chloe insisted.

"I got a job offer today. Well, it's still with the FBI; they want me to do something different." Beca explained how they want her to pull both investigative tools together for a more robust system. She didn't mention the move or pay raise. "Your turn."

Chloe looked down. "It's not important, Becs."

Beca reached over to grasp her hand. "Everything is important. We are about to get married, Chlo; we have to communicate. What were you going to tell me?"

"Beca, you sound like you really want this new position. There's no way I would do _anything_ to jeopardize that. You deserve to be happy. Besides, you have a unique mind for this type of investigative work."

Beca stared at the redhead a while. "Chloe? What are you not telling me? You are my best friend and about to be my wife. If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"

Chloe struggled with her words. "Beca, what I want most in the world is for you to be happy. I need that for you. I just… well, I feel there's nothing left for me here. The Beacon is up my ass, and frankly, without sounding pretentious, I do not see a lot of potentials here since I have a Pulizter accolade on my resume." She cringed as she looked at Beca. "Is that bad of me?"

"Not at all," Beca chuckled. "Well, that makes the rest of what I need to talk about easy." Chloe tilted her head at Beca's words. "The new position isn't at the Atlanta field office. It's at Quantico."

"Quantico? As in Virginia?"

Beca nodded. "As in less than an hour to the nation's capital. Think you can find fulfillment there? And before you get concerned about the cost of living, the position moves me up a paygrade, which is at least $12,000 a year salary increase and that's not including the 9% bump in locality payment."

"Wow." Chloe couldn't find sufficient words to express her feelings. "I was worried that I was a pompous ass. Glad we still have most of my prize money to help us move."

"Nope, that's on the government dime." Beca also explained the extended housing stipend. "I have to give my answer by Monday. So maybe take a day or two to think about things, and we can revisit on Sunday?"

"How about I put my notice in at the newspaper on Monday and start house shopping?"

"I've got a better idea. How about you put your notice in on Monday and finish planning our wedding?"


End file.
